Changing History: Consequences
by AzaldiaTook
Summary: Part Two of my Melomir drama/romance, that takes us through The Two Towers. Please read Changing History: Choices first to understand what's going on. Thank you for your support!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: And so Part Two begins! And if someone could give me a suggestion for line breaks that would be great, because I'm going to be using them a lot I think to separate scenes and when I upload my document from Word to it automatically deletes them all. Should I save them in a different format or what can I do? For right now when you see the words (BREAK) a new scene is starting on the next line. This part will document Melody Bernston Calenhiril's journey through the events in The Two Towers. If you haven't already, please read Part One first, Changing History: Choices. And as always, no characters except for Mel are my own, they belong to JRR Tolkien and Co. Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

**Chapter 1**

The river Anduin rushed and gurgled over the rocky bed, churning and swirling as it had for thousands of years, wearing the same winding path southwards. Then with an inevitable roar, the river plunged hundreds of feet into the abyss at the feet of Rauros. The river was steady, the river was sure, the river was unchanging.

Boromir wondered why he could not be more like the river. He stood on the shore and waited for the three remaining members of the Fellowship to come to a decision. His was already made. He clutched the small pack tighter in his hand. It was a woman's pack, specifically crafted and carefully packed with everything she might have needed. Someone had been looking out for her.

It should have been him. He had given his word to the elf and to himself that he would look after her; that no harm would come to her. Where had he lost his focus? When had he become so blinded?

His eyes drifted to the east. The Emyn Muil loomed on the far shore. And beyond that, black clouds billowed over the borders of the Dark Lord's domain. His eyes narrowed. Frodo and Sam were well into the cliffs by now, doomed to wander the endless labyrinth blindly. But Boromir knew he couldn't help them now. The others might choose that path, but it was as impossible to him as it would be to swim up the waterfall. He knew what madness lay that way.

And it infuriated him! He was a soldier, a leader, a commander of the Men of Gondor! He had led armies into victorious battle with Sauron's finest warriors and taken back cities all had thought to be lost forever. But when faced with this seemingly insignificant tool of the Enemy, a force that should have paled in comparison, he was rendered helpless.

He glared into the black clouds of the east and silently cursed the Dark Lord even as he cursed himself. No soldier of Gondor should be so weak. No Steward of Gondor…

"Boromir," the gentle voice of the elf broke his concentration. He turned his eyes from Mordor, "Come, we will track the orcs with you. Frodo must follow his own path."

He saw the wary look in Legolas' eyes and self-loathing boiled his insides. For he deserved every caution. How could the others trust him when he could not even trust himself.

He nodded, but as the elf turned away, he took his shoulder, "Legolas," He turned back, "I must seek your forgiveness. You were right. I am a fool."

Legolas smiled and gripped the man's shoulder in return, "No fool knows himself to be a fool, Boromir. You were a fool. Now you are a wiser man because of it." He patted his shoulder and Boromir felt friendliness in the gesture, "Come, we will track while there is still daylight."

"And when the daylight fades we will track still more!" Gimli barked, slinging his axe on his back.

"Though not as swiftly," Aragorn murmured, "Daylight suits my eyes best."

"And every moment we stand here the orcs travel on." Boromir added, "I can follow a trail in daylight as well as any."

And so he shouldered the small pack, Melody's pack, and followed the trail after her.

(BREAK)

By bits and pieces, Mel felt herself being jolted into consciousness. Her head was pounding, but she couldn't tell if the pain was internal or external. Her sides and stomach were sore and her arms felt stretched. Her arms and legs were tied together. And she was bouncing. That was what had woken her up. Slowly she opened her eyes.

The world was topsy-turvy and flying by at an impossible rate. At first she wondered is she was swinging off the back of a pickup truck. But an iron bar seemed to be holding her legs in place and she saw big, black legs running underneath her.

That was when she screamed. She flew into a full-blown panic. Her arms and legs went flying and she wriggled and squirmed, twisting her body in ways she would never have thought possible. It was by pure luck that she kicked the immovable orc in the face. He roared and his arm loosened its grip. She kicked herself off his shoulder and landed hard on her butt. She tried to scramble up, to crawl away, any form of forward motion, but she was just too damn slow! Just as she got on her stomach and started to slither through the grass, two boulders came crashing down on her. They flattened her in the grass and pressed all the air out of her lungs. She was sure she heard a sickening crunch. Her first conscious thought was, _Jesus, I broke a rib!_ There was roar that sounded like language. Her head was getting light. She couldn't take a breath.

The roar switched to a scratchy Common, "Get off, you lugs! We need 'er alive!"

The pressure eased off of her back and she sucked in cool twilight air, ignoring the pain on her left side. But the steel fingers of orc hands still held her arms and legs, so she kept very still. She tried to control her fluttering heart. She heard steps like thunder resonate through the ground as they stomped toward her head. Then a creak like leather bending and suddenly, there was a hand tangled in her long, brown hair. She tried to brace herself, but nothing could have prepared her for the mighty jerk that brought her face up from the ground or the mind-blowing pain that shot through her head. She screamed and struggled without thinking, trying to free her hands.

"Quiet, Tree Witch!" the scratchy voice hissed, "Or I'll start choppin' off fingers!" Mel bit her lip to stop her scream, but she couldn't stop the tears that streamed from the corners of her eyes, "Now that was a right stupid trick you pulled and we'll have no more of it. Understand?"

She nodded as best she could. Her eyes were still squeezed shut. She couldn't see who spoke. She didn't want to see. She didn't care.

He flung her head into the grass, "One finger for every other escape you try to make. Get 'er up!"

She was yanked to her feet and tossed over an orc shoulder like no more than a sack of potatoes. She felt a sharp stab of pain in her side and she was sure that at least one rib was broken. But what could she do? The orcs could care less about the comfort of her travel. So as they bounced along she tried to squirm into a position on her right side. The orc carrying her paid her no more attention than if she had turned in her sleep.

After that her mind started to work. They were out of the forest, on the plains. The trees were noticeably absent. She was with orcs. They had kept her alive and were taking her somewhere. Mel had only two guesses and neither was very enticing.

Where were Merry and Pippin? She tried to sit up, but her current position wasn't conducive to that sort of behavior. She could barely see the midsections of the orcs running behind her. She let her head droop again. Regardless, she knew they were here. And scared to death. And there was nothing she could do for them. History had to run its course, as best it could. She knew that they wouldn't understand, but all of this was going to shape them into what they needed to become. Some things just had to…

Boromir's face flashed in front of her. He was smiling, almost laughing. His gray eyes danced. She closed her eyes, but the vision stayed with her, wavering in the darkness behind her eyelids.

"Oh god, Boromir," she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

A/N: I know, I know, it's a short one, but now at least you know where everybody stands. Hopefully the next one will be longer!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm back! No long notes, let's just get right to it! I would like to say thank you for the overwhelming response I've received for this new installment of my story. You guys are awesome, I can't believe I have a following! Onward and upward!

**Chapter 2**

They stopped once more that night, but only for a moment. Mel could hear orc voices and what sounded like a small argument. And then she heard one small voice over it all.

"My friend is sick! He needs water, please!"

_Pippin._ It warmed her heart to hear his tiny voice. She sat up and tried to turn, but she still couldn't see him. The orcs started to laugh.

"Sick is he? Give him some medicine, boys!"

There was more laughing and Pippin started to protest, "Stop it! Leave him alone!"

"Stop!" Mel cried out too, "You're hurting him! Your master won't like it!"

Someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up. She bit back her scream, "Shut your face, witch!" Then he slapped her. It was a bone jolting move that snapped her head back and made her vision go black for an instant. When she came to, the orc was gone and all she had to show for it was a massive headache and a throbbing jaw. But she clearly heard Pippin calling.

"Mel? Melody is that you? Mel?!"

"Quiet, Shire-rat!" An Uruk yelled.

There was a pause. Then one of the orcs spoke, "What is it? What do you smell?"

"Man-flesh." Another growled. There was an uneasy grumble from the group.

"They've picked up our trail!"

"Let's go!"

"Move it, you slimy maggots!"

And the endless bouncing began again. But Mel felt slightly relieved. The Three Hunters were coming, just as they should be. That meant they should be heading for Fangorn Forest. She rubbed her hands together. The gloves that the Lady Galadriel had given her were still on tight. That meant either they really were magical and the Uruk-Hai hadn't been able to pry them from her fingers, or they had no idea what the source of her power was. But they knew she had power. They kept calling her a witch. That meant someone knew. Someone knew and didn't want the orcs to know. Someone wanted that power for themselves. She clasped her hands together. She could only imagine what kind of damage the Yavannacor might do in abusive hands.

She felt her face swelling. She pulled up her bound hands and brushed her throbbing cheek. She'd be lucky if her whole face didn't swell up like a balloon. But it would all be over soon. If she could just get to the trees…

--

Though the trail was easy enough to follow, Boromir soon let Aragorn take up the lead. The Ranger was by far the better tracker and Boromir didn't want his distraction to cause him to miss a move of the enemy. He kept a steady pace and his thoughts kept up the cadence, repeating the last words he had heard Melody say.

_Please, I don't want you to die._

Legolas had been right. All this time, she had been trying to save him. The mystery was solved. He couldn't imagine the pain and uncertainty he had caused her over the last two months. When all along, she had been trying to decide between saving him and keeping history as she knew it the way it should be. And in the end, she had chosen him. After all he had said and all he had done, her last gasping plea had not been for her own life, but for his. His life had been in jeopardy and he hadn't even known it. All this time, she had been holding him back from a black precipice and he had been pushing her away, loathing even the sight of her as he stumbled blindly toward his own demise. And though at the end her grip had slipped, she had never lost her hold on him.

Would he have taken the same actions had she told him he was going to die? His pride told him of course he would have. Melody's attitude toward Middle Earth had always told him that the outlook was good. They would win the war. Otherwise, there would have been nothing for the author in her world to write about. Lost wars make for very dull, depressing stories. His pride said he would have done exactly as she had told him, if she had only told him. But if he had discovered anything about himself, it was that his pride had gotten him into all this. His pride had almost killed Melody. His pride was why she and the hobbits were not with them right now. His pride was why Frodo and Sam were now facing the Emyn Muil alone and unguided. His pride may have doomed them all.

And so, even though it was difficult, he decided to shove away his pride. And beneath that he knew that faced with the knowledge of his own death, he would not have acted the same way. It would have been impossible for any mortal man, no matter if he were instructed or not. Melody had wise to keep that from him. Something was supposed to happen, something in all of this was meant to be. If she had wanted to save him, she would have waited until the very last possible second, so that events could fall into place. But by simply being alive he changed everything. He should not be here, chasing after the Uruk-Hai across the wide plains, ignoring the burning pain of his muscles and the complaints from his lungs. What events would his very existence affect? By saving his life, had Melody sacrificed the war?

Boromir didn't know if he could live with the knowledge that his life meant the end of hope for Middle Earth, for his people. But nothing was set in stone, not anymore. He was alive now and he would do everything in his power to make certain that his people remained safe. And he would start with Melody. She was a part of his people too.

The night had fallen almost without notice. The four companions had not slowed pace. It wasn't necessary. The orcs cut a wide path through the tall grasses of the plains, unwary and destructive, concerned more with speed than caution. They hurried after them, none of them speaking. No one called for a halt, though they all must have been as tired as he. But he ignored his weariness, tucking away his complaining muscles and drooping eyes into a small corner of his consciousness. Instead he let a happier memory overshadow his thoughts.

_He burst through the doors and out into the sunshine of a brilliant Rivendell morning. The darkness of the room had been oppressive and the eyes of the Ranger had seemed stronger than they should have, deeper and with more wisdom. He took a deep breath and put his hands on the rail of the balcony, freeing his mind of unpleasant thoughts and enjoying the serenity of the elven city. The peace was enjoyable, but quiet. He needed company, conversation._

_He turned and there sat the girl, Melody, watching him quietly and curiously. He was taken off guard. Had she been there the entire time? He realized that he must look frazzled and attempted to calm himself by smoothing his hair._

"_My lady, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there."_

_She smiled and shrugged. She still had that curious look, as if she were wondering if she knew something he didn't, "You looked like you had something on your mind. I didn't want to interrupt." How correct she was. He had a lot on his mind. She slid to one side of the stone bench and patted the vacant seat, "Want to sit?"_

_She wasn't a part of this world. He had barely known her but half a day. But she was company and conversation, exactly as he had asked for. So he sat. Then he realized he would have to make small talk. He rattled his brain and said the first thing he could think of._

"_So how do you like Imladris, Lady Melody?" He inwardly cringed. Could he do no better than that? His skills of conversation were badly out of practice._

_But she seemed not to even notice. In fact, she changed the subject, "Call me Mel, it's much easier."_

_Mel? What a strange name, "But Melody is a lovely name. It rolls pleasantly off the tongue." And he could never call her Mel. It seemed too small a name for such an interesting person._

_She rolled her eyes, "Fine, but drop the Lady bit, that's just too much work."_

_He smiled. Her dialect of the Common Tongue was fascinating. He was sure Faramir would have loved to study it, "As you wish, Melody. As I was saying, what do you think of Rivendell?"_

_He looked over and she was smiling the widest smile he had ever seen, "It's more beautiful than I could have ever imagined" she murmured. Then her brow creased in a small frown, "There aren't a lot of people though. I like being around people."_

_People. Yes, the feel of a city around you. There was nothing like the feeling of a community swarming around your doorstep, life at every turn, "You would love Minas Tirith. There are many people of all different backgrounds living there. It is always bustling and buzzing with life. And when you look out across Gondor from the watch towers as the sun sets…"He imagined the towers, the banners, the sun burning low on the horizon and he tried to search for words to describe his city to this stranger, this woman who had been in this world for no longer than a day and he failed miserably, "It is one of the great sights of Middle Earth."_

_He looked over and Melody's eyes were closed, as if she were visualizing everything and could see it perfectly, "I would love to see that."_

And in that moment, Boromir had believed her. He had believed that Melody would love to see Minas Tirith and would love it like her own city, as much as he loved it. He still believed that. And he believed that he would show it to her. He would see her face light up as the sun rose over the towers and the morning watchmen lifted the banners of the White Tree into the blue sky. He believed it, now more than ever. Because he needed to believe it.

In front, Aragorn's dark form stopped and raised a hand. The other three gathered around him as he knelt in the trampled grass, "Something happened here."

Boromir felt his breath catch in his throat. He searched the ground for any signs, but his eyes were not as sharp as the Ranger's. It all looked like trampled grass to him. So he waited for Aragorn to read the signs.

"There was a struggle." Aragorn pointed to a shape in the grass, "There was someone small pressed into the ground here."

"A hobbit?" Gimli asked, trying to keep his huffing quiet.

Aragorn shook his head, "No, bigger. But not an orc."

"Mel." Legolas whispered.

Boromir felt his heart stop. What had they done to her?

Aragorn nodded, "She tried to crawl away and they held her down."

His heart fluttered to life again, "She tried to crawl? So she is alive?" He tried to calm his voice, but he couldn't keep it from wavering.

"Yes, I believe so. And if they have kept her alive this long, then they must mean to keep her so." Aragorn said, rising out of the grass, "They passed earlier this evening. Come, we will cover more ground tonight!"

Aragorn leapt into the night and the others followed. But as they ran, Boromir looked to the stars. He found Earendil in the sky. But that brought another memory, one that was more painful now.

"_Its right there, the really bright one."_ _Her hand was so small his own almost hid it from view as he pointed out the star. Her hair brushed his cheek. It smelled lightly of lilies. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize the smell. The task kept him from thinking about anything but this moment, here with this strange woman who knew everything about him._

"_Boromir?" she whispered._

_He worked to memorize the sound of her voice. It was so calm, "Hmmm?"_

"_Are you scared?"_

_His body stiffened and his eyes flew open. Of all the questions she could have asked, she asked the one he did not want to answer. He wanted to lie. To laugh and tell her what a silly idea that was, he was the Steward's son, the strongest man in Gondor, he wasn't afraid of anything._

_But he knew she would see through the lie. And if she didn't, it wouldn't make it any less of a lie. And he couldn't lie to her, "More than you can imagine."_

_He turned and searched her face for any sign of contempt at his weakness, any twist of a laugh in her mouth, any dimming in her eyes as she looked at him, condemning him for his truth. But nothing changed. Her green eyes still sparkled with starlight and her mouth remained straight as if he had answered a deep question and she was now pondering its meaning. She didn't know everything about him._

He had never been one to ask the stars for favors. That was more of his brother's avenue. He didn't know if he believed that the Valar were up in their council room watching the comings and goings of the world with aloof importance, or if it was all a bunch of superstitious nonsense created by the Elves to give them a sense of purpose and significance. But looking up at Earendil he felt strongly that someone was watching him closely and if he spoke, he would be heard.

So as he ran, he sent a silent plea, "_Please, please, keep her safe until I come for her."_

A/N: Alright guys, next chapter should be more action and less introspective mumbo jumbo. At least now you're kinda getting a glimpse into what Boromir was thinking during Part One. I hope that keeps you entertained until I can get Chapter Three out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Back again! Hopefully we'll get some action into this one besides running. I also wanted to thank you all for your kind comments about the Boromir sections of the chapters. It has been extremely difficult and nerve-racking to write from his point of view and it's nice to see that it's been received well. Thank you! Now on with the story!

**Chapter 3**

The sun rose slowly over the plains of Rohan, but all Mel could think about was the stabbing pain in her left side. By now every bounce and jolt was painful. Even laying on the right didn't help. It only made her right side sore. And the left side of her face had swollen. Her left eye was partially shut. She was sure that she looked like a god-awful mess. Her tongue was swollen and it felt like her mouth was full of cotton and her stomach wasn't growling anymore, instead there was a dull ache in her insides. But she dared not say anything. What if they made her swallow that nasty concoction they had given Merry? She shuddered at the thought and winced with the movement. Her arms felt like they had been pulled from her body and she couldn't feel her legs anymore either. She had lapsed in and out of consciousness through the night, but nightmares kept jerking her awake. There were nightmares about Gandalf and Aragorn, Legolas, the hobbits, the Ring, Elladan and Elrohir, Galadriel, Eregwen, Orophin who morphed into Boromir who decayed into a rotten corpse before her very eyes, her name rasping on his disintegrating lips. After that particular horror, she worked to keep her eyes open until the light of the sun touched her.

The morning wore on with little change. But when the sun rose to noon, the Uruk who was carrying her stopped suddenly and threw her on the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her and pain shot through her body, including the familiar dull ache in her back. That frightened her more than anything. Flashes of memory flooded back, memories of Moria and the darkness and the hurt.

"The Tree-Witch goes no closer to the forest!" The large Uruk bellowed.

There was roar from the company of orcs. Mel felt her heart stop. No closer to the forest? She closed her eyes and curled up into a ball, trying to distance herself from the yelling and the fighting. She also tried to reach out with her mind, calling out to any trees that might be in range of her thoughts, calling for help. But there was nothing. Her heart sank.

One ugly orc voice rose up out of the commotion, "You can't expect us to run across the land of the Horse-Lords clear to the Gap!"

"Right under the nose of Edoras, that is!" Another protested.

"The White Wizard gave orders!" The Uruk yelled again, "Don't take the Witch to Fangorn! She's to be delivered straight to Saruman!"

"And what of the Halflings? I'll not risk the master's prize to be taken by horse-riding vermin!"

"Do what you like." The Uruk growled, "But the woman goes across the plains with me!"

Mel's legs were yanked straight and she thought she felt the ropes being cut. Then she was yanked to her feet by her hair. She screamed and tears started to form in her eyes, but she held them back.

"Quiet, Witch!" Her captor yelled, "You will run your piece from now on!"

But she barely felt she could stand, much less run. The rope that had bound her feet was now tied to the rope on her hands like a leash. The Uruk-Hai held the other end. Her legs wobbled and she started to sink back to the ground. The Uruk jerked her up again. She screamed and she really did start to cry.

"Please, I can't, I can't, please…" She whimpered.

The Uruk-Hai shoved his ugly black face closer to her. She could smell his stinking breath, "Oh, I think you can." He snarled. He uncorked a flask with his twisted teeth and shoved the neck down her throat, pulling back her head so the liquid would pour down her throat. A rotten, sour taste filled her mouth and she started to choke as the vile stuff burned her insides. She shook her head and finally dislodged the bottle and spit what was left in her mouth into the face of the Uruk. He shook his head and laughed.

"Now you will run!" He shouted. He corked the bottle again and slung it over his shoulder. Taking a firm hold of her leash, he turned back to the other orcs, "A race to the finish then, you maggots!"

"Mel!" she looked up and she saw Merry and Pippin slung around the necks of the Uruk-Hai. She hated to admit it, but the orc-draught had made her stronger and her eyes sharper. She could clearly see the horror on the faces of her little friends. She smiled.

"Remember what I told you!" She called to them, "It's gonna be alright."

Her captor jerked on the rope and started to drag her away. She heard the hobbits still screaming after her.

"Mel!"

"No, Mel, no!"

"Come back!"

"Leave her alone!"

Her brave smile faded as she regained her footing and started running to keep up with the Uruk-Hai, "It's gonna be alright…" she murmured. And it was. Merry and Pippin would find Treebeard. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli would find Gandalf. They would all save Rohan from Saruman. The only problem was that there was no one left to rescue her.

--

Boromir barely noticed the rising of the sun or its slow trek across the blue sky. At noon they stopped. Aragorn had found something, a small leaf from one of the hobbit cloaks, trampled into the dirt by orc feet. He held it to the light.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall." He whispered.

Legolas turned back from the pursuit, "Then the hobbits also may yet be alive."

Aragorn felt the ground and nodded, "Less than a day ahead of us. We should rest here for a little, while the sun shines brightest and they are at their weakest."

"No!" Boromir cried, "We should carry on! Catch up while we have the chance yet!" He started to turn back to the pursuit, but he was stopped by a hand at his arm.

It was Legolas. His eyes met Boromir's then turned to look behind him. Gimli was just huffing and puffing his way up the hill to catch up with them. The dwarf straightened when he reached them, and his eyes were bright with the chase. But Boromir could see that he was weary. Only his will was keeping him on his feet now, not strength of body.

The elf turned back and gripped his arm tighter, "We will not lose her, Boromir." He murmured.

Boromir nodded and sat, leaning his back against a large shelf of rock. But the delay was still like slow torture for him. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes. But all he could see was Melody's face, streaked with sweat and tears, looking up at him from under the point of his sword. He saw her splattered with black blood and fighting for her life as the orcs overcame her. He felt his fear and his loss as she fell into the black mass. He could barely recall the fight. He remembered that the sheer numbers of the orcs had staggered him. He remembered deflecting blow after blow and killing one after another. He faintly remembered the sound of a twanging bow and arrows flying by him. But he had been trying to get to Melody; he had been trying to find her in the chaos. Panic had gripped his chest when she fell. And he had looked up for a brief instant and the hobbits were gone as well. And then Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had found him struggling for his life. He must have blown his horn. That is what Legolas said. The elf said he had heard the Horn of Gondor and come running. He couldn't recall bringing the Horn to his lips. After Melody fell it was all a haze.

His eyes flew open and he jerked up. The sun had barely moved in the sky. But he would not close his eyes again. He would not relive the nightmare. He would find Melody and he would take her away. He would take her to Minas Tirith. She would be safe there. She would never have to fight for her life again. She would never have to be afraid.

They all ate a wafer of lembas and started out again. They chased the trail of the orcs until the sun had lowered into a deep red western sky. Then Aragorn stopped them again.

"They have split up." He said.

"What?" Boromir exclaimed, "Why?"

Aragorn passed his hands over the grass, reading things that Boromir's untrained eye could not see, "Two have split from the main group." He murmured, "They ran across the plains westward. The others continue north."

"But why leave the others?" Gimli asked, "Why just two orcs?"

"They were not both orcs." Aragorn said. He pointed to an invisible print in the grass, "One track is smaller than the other. But not hobbit feet."

"One has taken Melody." Boromir growled. But why that way? The orc risked being overtaken by the Horsemen of Rohan, passing too close the stronghold of Edoras.

"What would possess an orc to go that way?" Gimli grumbled to himself, finishing Boromir's line of thought.

And Legolas answered, "Fangorn Forest. He doesn't want her too close to the trees."

For a moment all four were silent. There was now a choice to be made. The trail had split. And Boromir knew which fork he would take. And he also thought he could guess which fork the others should take.

"I will go after Melody." He said, "You three stay with the hobbits."

"No, Boromir, I will go with you." Legolas protested.

"No!" Boromir shouted and Legolas took a step back. Boromir calmed his voice, "No, Legolas. The bulk of the orcs went north. Merry and Pippin will need all three of you to escape. I can handle one orc alone."

"I don't know that any of us should travel alone in these dark days." Aragorn said, wary.

"You are already far outnumbered." Boromir replied, "I would not further hinder your chances by taking a companion when none is needed. And the longer we tarry, the further our enemies fly."

There was a pause. They all seemed to be waiting for Aragorn to make a decision. Even Boromir found himself looking for some sign from the Ranger, a symbol of approval. Perhaps this man from the north was what Legolas had claimed him to be, a son of kings.

Finally, Aragorn nodded, "You are right, Boromir. We shall wait no longer. Go to the west, we three will go to the north."

Boromir nodded, "Perhaps we shall meet again in the White City, Lord Aragorn."

Aragorn smiled, "I hope that to be true, Lord Boromir."

"Boromir," He turned to Legolas. The elf gave him a hard look, "Take care of her."

There was a pause then Gimli slapped him on the back, "What are you waitin' for? Go get her, laddie!"

Boromir clasped the dwarf's shoulder and then he took the trail westward into the rapidly fading sunlight. This orc was just as destructive as his counterparts had been, so his trail was easy to follow. Boromir picked up his pace, first jogging, and then running. The thrill of the chase rushed through him and his mind took up the steady mantra that had been plaguing his every step since he had left the river Anduin.

_I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die…_

But instead of hearing Melody's voice, he heard his own. Melody's face wavered in front of him and he was chanting the phrase.

_I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die…_

--

The night wore on steadily and Mel found that though she should be tired, she wasn't. The Uruk kept a grueling pace, but her limbs burned with an energy that she knew was from the nasty stuff she had drunk earlier and she found that she could keep up. The march became a monotonous chorus in her head and she felt her mind start to wander.

She was going to Saruman. She started running through her mind all she knew about him. He was like Gandalf, a Maiar, the White Wizard. He had once been very wise, but he was proud and greedy. He wanted to rule Middle-Earth, either with Sauron or against him. He had cut down the forests to fuel the fires of his smithies underground and that had (or rather would) royally piss off the Ents. And he didn't care. If he didn't care about the trees, what could he possibly want with her? If he thought she was going to be his advocate to them, he was out of his magic-wielding mind! Nothing in this world could convince her to help him, much less hurt the trees. Hell, they were probably more human than he was!

But as she rolled it over in her mind, she couldn't come up with a better explanation. He wanted her for something, he needed her power. Otherwise, Big Ugly here would have killed her two days ago and saved himself the trouble of lugging her through what was, obviously, a very dangerous situation for him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rushing water. That didn't sound right.

"Hope you can swim, Witch." The Uruk snarled.

She could swim. Though how she was supposed to swim with her hands tied she had no idea. And she didn't have a lot of time to ponder the question. All of the sudden, she was knee deep in river water. The Uruk-Hai jerked on her rope leash, pulling her farther into the freezing cold. Already, she couldn't feel her toes. And she felt her clothes weighing her down. She was already neck deep and the water was reaching her mouth. The current pulled at her legs and she slipped. Her head fell under the swirling water. She tried to stay calm. She kicked off her shoes and pushed her way to the surface. She broke through and gasped, coughing and sputtering, just trying to stay afloat. She didn't have to move forward, the Uruk-Hai simply pulled her along. All she had to do was keep her head above water, which she struggled with all her might to do.

She could barely tell when her feet touched bottom again. Her whole body was numb. She stumbled to shore and collapsed on the bank, dripping wet and shivering. But she was jerked up by her collar and the nasty black bottle was shoved in her mouth again. The burning liquid poured down her throat and seared her veins, immediately bringing her limbs back to life. She choked and coughed on the last of the stuff as it was ripped from her lips. But she had to admit, she felt better.

"Well, you're no fish are you, Tree-Witch?" The Uruk guffawed as he took a swig of the disgusting concoction. The idea that her lips had touched the same bottle as his was enough to make her retch. She glared at him, but stayed silent. He laughed again, "Too bad about those shoes though. You'll be wantin' 'em again before it's over."

Mel had completely forgotten about her shoes. Her bare toes wriggled in the soft grass of the river bank. Surely it wouldn't be that bad. She had run barefoot before.

The Uruk yanked her to her feet without warning and they were running again. At first the grass was soft and actually felt good on her sore feet. But then the soft grass ended. Weeds started to poke at her. And tiny rocks with sharp edges dug in and tore her soles. She gritted her teeth and ran anyway, partly out of spite, mostly because she didn't have a choice. She didn't look at her feet. She didn't want to see the damage being done there. Instead she kept her eyes on the plains, watching for anything that might be a sign of a horseman. Because at that first sign, she was gonna run for it.

But she didn't see anything. Nothing moved in the darkness. Once she thought she caught the sound of a horse whinnying and her whole body tensed to spring. But nothing appeared. And the sound could have been from anywhere. She sighed and kept running. By now her feet were burning and she felt blood between her toes. Her head was pounding and her side was starting to pulse with pain. It was the left side. She had almost forgotten about the broken rib. The orc-draught must have dulled the pain. But now it was breaking through, shooting through her side with every breath, which was painful in itself. She was gasping and her lungs burned, but she kept running. And the gasping only made her side hurt worse. It was an endless cycle.

And just as the sun started glowing over the tops of the distant mountains, she stubbed her toe on a rock and fell. And she didn't have the strength left in her to get back up again. The Uruk-Hai dragged her for several feet before he realized that something might be wrong. He stopped, whirled around and kicked her in the stomach.

"Get up, Witch!" He yelled. Mel curled inward and just lay still. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. Her legs wouldn't allow it. He kicked her again. This time his boot caught her forehead. She blacked out for a moment. When she came to again, she felt something warm and sticky trickling down her face. Slowly, she realized it was blood.

"Get up!" He yelled again. She didn't move, waiting for him to keep kicking her. But he didn't. He grunted. Then he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, "Weak humans…" He grumbled. Then he muttered something unintelligible in his own language and took off running. Mel could feel unconsciousness start to surround her like a blanket. But in the darkness, Boromir's face still lingered like a ghost. For a moment, she imagined he was alive and that he was running to her rescue. But he wasn't alive. And even if he was, would he come for her? She remembered his face, livid with rage and hate, in Lothlorien when he had been convinced she had betrayed him. And for the first time, she was glad that she would never know.

--

Boromir ran well into the night, following the clear trail left by the orc. Eventually, his mind went blank and he only concentrated on the steady rhythm of his feet and the sounds around him on the plains. Slowly he began to hear the sounds of water flowing and realized he was approaching the Entwash. He began to watch the trail carefully to see when the orc branched off in search of the Entwade, the only safe place to cross the river. But the trail never deviated from its course westward, straight to Isengard and the tower of Orthanc. He had guessed the course several hours before. It was the only haven of evil that lay west. The orcs were taking Melody and the hobbits to Saruman. What vile purpose he had in mind for them, he couldn't begin to imagine, and he had no intention of finding out. The thought of the wizard laying even one finger on Melody pushed all weariness from his mind and quickened his step without conscious thought.

His eyes continued to seek out signs of the trail turning to find the fords. The sound of the water grew louder in the stillness of the night. Where was the turn? Surely he didn't plan to…

He stumbled and his foot went ankle deep into the river. He cursed and stepped back. Had he misread the signs? He backtracked, searching carefully, but there was no mistaking it. The trail led straight into the roaring Entwash. The orc had dragged Melody through the deepest part of the freezing river, exhausted and frightened. It made his blood boil. He would not lose the trail now. Carefully he removed his boots, Elven cloak and tunic, and stuffed them into Melody's pack and slung it over his shoulder. Then he plunged into the icy water. He waded out as far as he could go, keeping his feet planted on the riverbed. But he wasn't even halfway across when he lost his contact with the bottom. He quickly threw himself against the current, swimming as hard as he could. He lost feeling in his limbs. The only way he knew he was still swimming was because he could see his arms moving and he willed his legs to do the same. The sound of the water pounded in his ears. He thought he would never find the shore in the darkness. But suddenly, his body rose out of the water, almost as if by a miracle. It took him a moment to realize that the miracle was his feet pushing against the rocky shore. He scrambled up the riverbank and collapsed in the soft grass, exhaustion finally overwhelming him. He curled into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. A tiny part of his mind knew that was bad, that he needed to get up, that he needed to move. But a larger part of him just wanted to rest, wanted to sleep, just for a little while in the soft grasses. His eyes closed and he felt himself drifting away…

_There was a strange face in the blackness, a woman's face, framed by long chestnut hair. Her eyes were closed, as if in deep thought, but the face didn't crease. There was not a wrinkle in the pale skin. The small, pointed nose didn't move, the thin, pink lips were perfectly straight. There was no blemish to be seen. It was the closest thing to a perfect face that he had ever seen. But it was not a beautiful face. It was bland, almost as if it were molded as a mask for something else, something other than the human skin it wore. It was not a face prone to human emotion of any kind._

_Then he heard a whisper in the dark, a whisper like a thousand voices murmuring together softly, "A life for a life."_

_There was a blinding flash. He was surprised when his own face materialized and stared out at him. He looked more worn than he remembered himself to be. Then, out of the bright light, Melody's face replaced his own. She was smiling at him. He felt something warm fill his chest and spread out to his limbs._

_Then the light faded. The voices mumbled again._

"_A life for a life."_

_As the light faded the perfect face emerged out of the darkness, still motionless in concentration._

"_A life for a life."_

_Suddenly, the eyes opened and he was shocked. They were brilliant green, the most pure form of the color he had ever seen. But it was not the color that threw his head into a wild spin. It was the power! There was power in a mere glance from this perfect face that wasn't a face at all. It was a mask, he was sure of it now. Superstitions or not, this was no mortal creature._

_And for the first time, the perfect lips moved and the whisper reminded him of leaves rustling in a quiet wood, "Not yet. Awaken, Son of Gondor. Save the Daughter of Yavanna." And as he felt his mind being forced to the surface of his consciousness, he heard the power of the voice soften into what he supposed was the equivalent of affection, "Save my child."_

His eyes flew open and he shot out of the grass. He was on his feet and running before he even realized that he hadn't put his boots back on. He skidded to a stop and flung the pack onto the ground and started digging for them. But the urgency slowly started to fade and he began to notice things. Everything was still soaking wet. But he had dreamed. He must have been asleep for hours to have dreamed so vividly. But he looked up at the stars and realized that they hadn't moved. And the sun should have been rising, pink and burnt orange into the sky to the east. But everything was still dark. He could only have been by the river for mere minutes instead of hours.

But that was impossible. He should be exhausted and still shivering, possibly freezing to death. But despite his wet clothes, he felt warm and rested. He grabbed a wafer of lembas and chewed on it thoughtfully as he pulled on his boots. How could this be?

Then he thought about the dream. And he remembered the power of the eyes. There were many things those eyes were capable of, many things that he might not be able to understand.

He shook his head and got to his feet. Those eyes were just a dream. Dreams didn't cause men to swim a freezing river and come out warmer than when they plunged in. And dreams didn't make a few minutes rest feel like hours of deep sleep. Dreams were only dreams.

He sighed and looked down, expecting to see only untrodden grass. He would have to backtrack to the river and pick up the trail fresh from the riverbank. He would waste hours searching…

But there were footprints in the grass. He knelt down and studied them quietly. It wasn't possible. They must be prints from some other source, a horse maybe. But no, these weren't hoof prints. There were two sets of prints, one large and one small. And they were heading due west.

"It's not possible." He whispered. He couldn't have reached the opposite side of the river in the exact spot as the orc had. The current was too strong, there were too many factors that made it an impossibility.

And yet here he was. The trail was clear. Slowly he got to his feet and followed, expecting at any moment that the trail would veer off to the left or right and his hopes would be crushed. But it didn't veer. Slowly, he began to jog, then to run. His spirit soared. He didn't understand how or why, but that feeling of being watched from the heavens came over him again. He looked up for a moment as he ran and found Earendil anew. Had someone heard his plea?

_Save the Daughter of Yavanna. Save my child._

The Daughter of Yavanna. Melody, it had to be Melody. Someone was watching over her. The thought brought him hope. But as the sun started to rise at his back, something in the grass startled him to a skidding stop. The footprints were slightly garbled here, not as clear as before. Something had stopped them for a moment. But that wasn't what made Boromir's heart flutter and his breath catch in his throat.

He knelt in the grass, unwilling to believe what he saw. It was a trick of the light, the red sun was reflecting off of dew in the grass, there had to be a better explanation, one that didn't make his chest ache or his head swim. Slowly he reached out and touched the dark red patch of grass. It was sticky and he recoiled. He felt his stomach roll. It was blood, human blood, Melody's blood.

He sat back and tried to catch his breath. Blood, it had made her bleed. The numb feeling that had swallowed his limbs when he saw it was slowly replaced with a deep, sweeping fire. He clenched his teeth and launched himself across the plains. It had made her bleed. That was all he needed to know.

--

She didn't regain consciousness until the Uruk-Hai threw her to the ground hours later. Her side exploded with pain and her head spun until she thought she was going to be sick. She just lay for a moment, trying to get her bearings and make the world sit still, but she was yanked up by her hair. She hissed, but kept quiet. Screaming did her no good anyway.

"Welcome home, Witch." The Uruk growled.

Home? Her eyes flew open. The sun was setting and for a moment she was blinded as it reflected off the snow of the mountains that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere. But she blinked quickly, trying to force her eyes to adjust. Nestled into a little valley, a gray tower rose out of a cloud of grimy smoke. She tried to control the terror that filled her chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. Her breath came in gasps and her heart stuttered.

The Uruk-Hai barely seemed to notice. He yanked at her rope leash, "Come on, you'll run yourself to your own funeral!" He cackled as he led her stumbling into the valley, toward Isengard, Orthanc and Saruman.

--

A/N: Well, still a lot of running, but there was some swimming thrown in there so I won't count it a total loss. And finally we are at a point where the story will be very, very fun to write! I just hope I don't say that then get stuck. Anyway, long chapter to tide you over for a while. Have fun while I try to crank out Chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm back! Let's get on with it!

**Chapter 4**

When Mel finally stumbled into Isengard, night had fully fallen. But the courtyard, or what was left of it, glowed and shimmered with heat that burned from the ground. The Uruk-Hai never slowed as he yanked her toward the tower. She glanced into one of the many vents that tore through the ground and saw sparks fly and heard metal striking metal. And she heard roars and cackles and chittering from the depths of the fires. But the view was obscured by the billowing clouds of smoke that belched out of the hole. She was yanked onward. She kept her head down, avoiding any eyes that passed by them, but they didn't seem to pay her any attention. She was just another prisoner.

She tripped up the long black steps of the tower and followed the Uruk-Hai through two humongous black doors. They didn't creak ominously as she would have expected them to. They glided open smoothly and closed behind her with a gentle click. It was surprisingly cool in the dark gray hall. The difference in temperature made her shiver. He pulled her down the hall and to another set of doors. These weren't quite so big, but they were actually more frightening. The Uruk shoved them open roughly and dragged her inside before she had a chance to fall into full blown terror.

"I have brought the Tree-Witch!" He roared. Then he grabbed her arms and yanked her forward. She lost her balance and went sprawling across the smooth black floor. She scrambled to her knees, keeping her eyes down, now deathly afraid.

She heard a hiss, "You fool!" a deep voice spoke, "What have you done to her? When I told you not to kill her, I didn't mean bring her to me at the point of death!"

"Nothin' wrong with her that you can't fix." The Uruk growled.

"That is not the point." The deep voice had suddenly become deadly. Mel cringed. Behind her, there was a choking sound and she heard boots scraping the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could do the same to her ears. How much longer would this nightmare last? Finally there was a loud thump and the room was quiet. She was afraid to move, she was afraid to even breathe. If she pretended she was dead, maybe she would be left alone.

But of course, there was no such luck, "Get up." The deep voice commanded. She was shaking, but she did as she was told. She kept her eyes on the ground. She heard a swish of cloth and a steady click on the stone floor. The point of the white staff tapped into view, surrounded by white robes. It made a slow circle around her. Click, click, click. She didn't move. She held her breath as the staff vanished from view behind her, but she could still hear him. Click, click, click. Finally, he stopped in front of her.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be much to you." He sneered. The comment finally got a reaction from her, one that was not simple terror. She felt a spark of anger. She worked to keep her head down and forced herself not to clench her fists. No use calling attention to her hands so soon.

"I admit I thought there might be an aura about you, a sign of some kind. After all, the Calenhiril is supposed to be one of the most powerful witches to wander Middle-Earth."

The name startled her and her mind wheeled. How did he know her name? If he knew her name what else did he know? Was her pathetic attempt to hide the Yavannacor, all just that, pathetic? Did he know everything and was just toying with her, playing mind games? She felt her heart sink at the prospect. But what else could she do? She forced herself to stay relaxed and try to look small and insignificant.

"Look at me." The command was clear, but she hesitated. She was afraid again. If she looked at him, what would he see? "Look at me!"

That time she couldn't refuse. She looked up through her matted hair. Saruman's face was angular and pale, drawn tight over his skull. Everything about it seemed thin, the nose, the lips, the skin, everything. And everything was pale, his hair, his skin, even his eyebrows were white. Everything except his eyes. His eyes were deep black pools. His eyes made her suddenly sure that he had once been very wise. But now he just looked crazed. He was searching her for something, anything to give her away. But she felt like she was more in control of herself than he was. She stood a little taller and looked him straight in the eye.

He took a little step back and looked down his nose at her. He was fully a foot and a half taller than she was, "I see it now. You were hiding yourself. But you will hide no more."

He spun and strode to the center of the round black room and yanked a cloth off of a pedestal. The realization of what was under that cloth hit her one millisecond before he revealed it and she quickly averted her eyes.

She heard him cackle, "So, you know what this is, do you?"

His tone made her angry again, but she fought it down. She didn't answer him.

"A Palantir is a powerful tool." He said, "And it has many uses."

She continued to take deep breaths. She couldn't look into the Seeing Stone. She just wasn't strong enough.

"But perhaps," Her heart stuttered, "Perhaps not all our secrets should be revealed just yet."

She thought she heard the cloth being returned to the pedestal, but she dared not look up again. It could all be a trick.

"Perhaps there are friendlier means for secrets to be cast into the open."

Now his voice sounded pleasant, every word dripping with honey. It made her stomach turn. There was nothing friendly about Saruman. She knew better than to fall for his lies.

Suddenly, she felt the ropes fall from her wrists. She massaged the sore spots where they had rubbed through her gloves and then realized what she was doing. She tried to put her hands back down to her sides as casually as possible.

"That's better. Perhaps now we can come to an agreement."

_Not an ice cube's chance in hell._ She thought to herself. She felt him sweep by her and she glanced at his back as he passed. He walked like someone important, like a ruler of a kingdom. She tried to hide her smile. Didn't he realize he was fighting on the wrong side to believe that kind of nonsense? To Sauron, there was only one ruler and it wasn't the fallen White Wizard. For a wise man, he was such an idiot.

He twirled and sat gracefully on his dark throne and looked down at her with steepled fingers and curious eyes, "Now I know quite a bit about you and you know quite a bit about me, so I think we can skip most of the formalities. And since you have been loath to speak to me thus far, I would be foolish to assume that you would tell me your name."

_Brilliant deduction, Sherlock._ She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"So I shall call you Calenhiril. I believe that you already know who I am, and that you know what I want."

_Give me three guesses, but I'm only gonna need one._

"However, I am not sure that you understand what I could give you in return."

She held back a scoff. There was absolutely nothing in this world Saruman had that she wanted. Nothing could possibly…

"I can send you home, Calenhiril."

--

Boromir ran steadily all day, the blood in the grass swimming in front of his furious eyes. But the back of his mind kept replaying his vivid dream. The memory of it did not diminish. He remembered it as clearly as if he had just woken from it. The image of the perfect mask-like face was imbedded in his brain. And the words kept replaying in his mind and they puzzled him.

"_A life for a life."_

But what did that have to do with Melody? He had distinctly seen her face. He would never forget the warmth her smile had brought him. But he shoved that away quickly and focused on the meaning of the words and the images. Obviously, the voices had been talking about his life. Was Melody's life to be sacrificed for his own? But that wasn't possible. He wouldn't allow it. And the perfect face in his dream had also seemed violently opposed to it.

"_Not yet."_

She had bitten off the words, as if finishing an argument. But he'd gotten the impression that the argument was far from over, simply postponed for more important matters at hand. What those other matters might be he couldn't imagine, but he was glad for the delay.

Suddenly, he chuckled and shook his head. Oh, if Faramir could only see him now! Dissecting all his dreams as facts of the world, wondering at the conclusions of gods that he wasn't even convinced existed. No wonder the strange dream that had gotten him into this to begin with had come to his brother first. It was his brother that convinced him after Boromir had the dream himself. Boromir was fully prepared to dismiss the notion that his dream might have been sent. He controlled his life and his dreams, not some immortal creature that watched from the stars. But for Faramir to have the same dream? It was too much to ignore. And so, despite his better judgment, he had taken his father's task and journeyed to Imladris.

It felt as if an eternity had passed since that day, since he had watched the banners of the White Tree of Gondor flutter above the battlements for the last time, since he had left his family. He had not felt comfortable leaving Faramir with Father. He pictured his brother's gentle face and hoped that he had taken over patrol of the eastern border as he had asked. His mind knew that Faramir was strong and perfectly capable of handling himself. But his heart still saw his little brother, little bookworm that he was, in need of protection and love, things that their father had seemed loath to give and that Boromir couldn't give enough of. His heart longed for home. Nothing meant more to him than his family. After all, that was why he was here, sprinting across the plains…

He stumbled as the impact of his thoughts hit him. Melody was family. He shook his head. How had this happened? Where had it all come from? It was as if it had sprung out of the ground like a sapling overnight. He pushed it aside and ran on. He would ponder it later. There wasn't time now. Maybe when he got home he would discuss it with Faramir. His brother was more of an expert on such things. Feelings had never been a strong point for him. But Faramir could read people, just like Father. There were so many things that they shared, Boromir often found it impossible to believe that they did not get along. Faramir had more in common with Denethor than Boromir could ever hope to have. He envied his brother's mind, his ability to see a problem and patiently muddle it out, using all of the information he had carefully stored away in his memory from the countless books he had read. In many ways, Faramir was a stronger man than Boromir, a better man, the voice of reason when all Boromir wanted to do was charge into battle with his sword held high and the Horn of Gondor sounding on his lips. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times that Faramir's cleverness had saved his life.

He longed for that cleverness now. The sun was already setting in front of him. He knew that without a miracle he would never catch the Uruk-Hai before they reached Isengard, if they were not there already. And once Melody was in the tower of Orthanc he would have to find a way to get in and get her out again. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that impossible feat. But he knew that he would try. And he had a feeling that he was going to need a voice of reason to keep him from just charging up to the front gates and trying to fight his way through. It was a foolish idea, but not one that he was beyond pondering. Which was why he needed Faramir.

Shadow slowly crept over the plains and the stars began to emerge, twinkling brightly against the deep blue sky. The sun was obscured by the Misty Mountains rising out of the plains of Rohan like a wall. The darkness enveloped him in his own thoughts. Time seemed to disappear in the night as he ran on, ignoring his body's protests against the strain of the chase that was not even a chase anymore. It was just a headlong sprint into the arms of the enemy. He focused all his energy on the trail that he followed, mulling through plan after plan in his head, incorporating all the experiences he had from scouting and spy missions, trying to see a clear way to bring Melody home safely.

Suddenly, he smelled sulfur on the night air. He refocused his tired eyes in front of him. He was standing on a hill, the last before the hills turned to mountains. And below him spread a small valley, a pocket cut into the stone, burned black for miles. Smoke rose from the far side of the valley. The wind had turned and brought the smoke right to his face. In the dark he could barely make out the shape of a tower reaching for the dimming stars. Orthanc, Saruman's tower. And as the sun rose and threw light into the small valley, he could see that it was swarming with activity. Little shapes hurried to and fro about the blackened circle that made up Isengard and a great force seemed to be gathering and preparing. He sat on the hillside and felt despair start to seep into him.

"Melody…" he whispered.

--

At first, the possibilities of Saruman's proposal sent her head spinning. Home, he could send her home. The faces of her mom and dad and her sisters flashed before her like an old dream. It had been so long since she even had a chance to think about them. And she could go back, she could leave all of this behind her. She could go back and pretend that none of this had happened, that she had never met any of these people, had never been affected by them. It was all just a long, vivid nightmare, brought on by her overactive imagination. Talking to trees, how crazy was that? Elves, dwarves, wizards, everyone knew they didn't exist. And she could pretend that she had never known Boromir…

Then a stab of pain brought reality crashing down on her again. She held back a hiss as her side exploded in pain. And she remembered who she was dealing with. This wasn't a figment of her imagination. The pain was real, and the man who had caused it was looking right at her. He was a master of deceit, willing to say anything to get his way. He couldn't send her home. And even if he could, he wouldn't. The shocking realization washed over her, just as painful as the day Elrond had given up on her. But she didn't have time for pain.

She glared up at the wizard and she finally spoke through clenched teeth, "You don't even know where home is."

He smiled down at her, "Ah, good! I was beginning to fear that the idiot had cut out your tongue."

She glared silently. She was going to speak as little as possible. Conversation with his sickly sweet tone was revolting.

His smile faded when he realized she wasn't going to speak anymore, "I don't have to know any more than that you don't belong here. If you tell me where you want to go, it is within my power to send you there. I don't have to know anything other than where you desire to be." The smile returned, "In exchange for the power I seek of course."

She almost lost it right there. Her fists clenched and she bared her teeth. Her mind flew through pictures of the trees that she had spoken with. Her first friends in Rivendell; the tiny bush at the counsel, Birch and Rod; the tiny Tree standing tall and lonely against the wind, embedded in the rock; the tree by the shores of the Watcher's lake that she had saved and had in turn tried to save her. And lastly she thought of Maltalda, a gentle giant with beautiful golden leaves, who had lived more lifetimes than she could possibly imagine.

She would never give this monster control over them. He couldn't have them to treat as his puppets, laying down quietly, giving themselves up to his dark whims. She would never leave them helpless like that.

His eyes swept over her as she pulled away from him in disgust and anger, "This is not your world, Calenhiril." She ground her teeth as the name passed his lips, "You don't belong here. You were pulled here against your will and then left to fend for yourself. It wasn't fair and it needs to be corrected. I can do that for you. You have no responsibilities here, nothing tying you to this place. You don't have to live the nightmare. This is not your home and this is not your war."

His words so closely mirrored her previous thoughts that she jumped. What if he was right? What did she care? What if none of it was real and she was suffering for nothing. But faces started parading through her mind. Frodo and Sam. She could just imagine the little gardener's face twisting in agony at the horrors that would be wrecked upon his home. Merry and Pippin, who would be here soon, riding on the branches of trees, Ents that would be the best friends they could ask for, that would teach them courage and patience. Aragorn who would fulfill prophecy whether he liked it or not. Gimli, with his gruff affection. Legolas… Calm, steady, eternal Legolas who cared about her and protected her from her own fear and despair, who seemed to know her heart better than she did.

How could she say that she didn't care? It was real, all of it, the sound of Aragorn's harsh whispers of warning, running her hand through Pip's curly hair, eating Sam's sausages, slightly burned, but perfectly cooked in the middle, the feel of Legolas' arms around her, steadying her fearful shaking.

The smell of Boromir in the garden under the stars, the tingling sensation that a simple handshake left on her palm, the sound of his whisper bringing her back from the edge of unconsciousness, his passionate grey eyes when he spoke of his city…

A tear spilled from her eye and made a long winding trail down her cheek. She was crying. The realization stopped her short. She refocused on the White Wizard. He was staring at her, his dark eyes intense. A small grin creased the corners of his mouth. He had no idea what she was thinking. He thought he was winning. He had no idea that he didn't have a chance, not anymore. Because she cared too much to give up.

She straightened up and squared her shoulders. His smile vanished. She stared directly into his black eyes.

"You're right." She murmured. She saw the surprise light his eyes, but she ignored it, "I was dropped here against my will. I didn't ask to be here, it wasn't fair. And I have no doubt that you have the power to send me back." She took a deep breath, "But I have more tying me here than you could ever hope to have." She watched with sick pleasure as his face fell slack, "This is my world, this is my home, and this is my war. I'm not going anywhere."

The shock didn't last long. The wizard's face tightened into a black scowl that made Mel want to cower in a corner. But she stood perfectly still and waited, watching for any sign of what he would do next.

But the movement was so quick and small that she had no time to prepare herself. Not that you can prepare yourself for being thrown against a wall by an invisible force. She slammed into the stone and her side exploded in pain. The impact knocked the breath out of her and she gasped as she hit the floor, but that was just as painful. She didn't have any time to recover before she was on her feet again and forced against the wall by a force so powerful it was hard to draw breath. Or maybe that was her broken rib…

Saruman was on his feet, his staff leveled at her. He walked toward her calmly, but his face was anything by calm. Rage twisted his features into a white mask of hate, his eyes burned with a black fire. He stopped a few feet from her.

"I will have your power, Calenhiril." He hissed, "One way or the other. I will not be overrun by the force that I have seen coming from the forests! I will not be destroyed by the giants that sleep, by TREES!" he spit.

He flung her with a twitch of his staff. She tumbled to the floor and lay still. The pain was close to unbearable and her fists were clenched so tightly her fingers ached. Without command, two orcs entered the room and grabbed her by her arms.

"Take her to the deepest dungeon and shackle her there. Perhaps she needs rest to clear her head and help her see reason."

The orcs grunted and dragged her out of the room. Mel knew the worst wasn't over. And she wondered if she would live to see her friends again, friends she was willing to die for and they didn't even know it.

--

A/N: Well, another chapter for you! I hope it was intense enough for you. It was a lot harder to write than I thought it was going to be so I'm glad I got it done quick! I hope you enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Here we are again. Thank you for all the kind comments and I'm really on a roll now. You guys have no idea how long this part of the story has been festering in my head! I'm so excited to have come this far and be writing this. On we go!

**Chapter 5**

Sleep had overcome Boromir as he sat on the hill lost in despair. When he woke, the sun was already setting. His eyes and mind were clearer and he studied the workings of Isengard intently, trying to determine the purpose of all the activity. Something was about to happen. And if he could determine when the activity would reach its peak, perhaps he could sneak in unnoticed in the chaos of preparation. In essence, walk right through the open front door. No one would be expecting him. And most likely they would pay little heed to one more lone, ragged figure hurrying through their midst. If he were caught it would be the end of him and most likely the end of Melody, but he saw little else that he could do. He just couldn't allow himself to be caught.

He pulled his elven cloak out of the pack and shook it. The fabric wasn't even stiff. He threw it around his shoulders and pulled up the hood. Every bit of disguise he could muster was going to be necessary. And the Lady of the Wood had said that it would shield from unfriendly eyes. He could think of few eyes that would be more unfriendly than the ones he was about to encounter. Then he stood and began to make his way carefully down into the rocks of Isengard. He wanted to be as close to the fortress as possible before first light. And the next night he would make his move on the tower. He just hoped that one more day would not be one day too many.

--

When Mel woke again, she was sore and stiff and hanging from her wrists. She stood and metal clanked. She looked up. She was shackled to the dark, dank wall. Her fingers started to tingle when she relieved them of the pressure of her full weight. She flexed them and winced as the blood worked its way back into her hands. Her head was fuzzy. She tried to remember where she was. A dungeon… A dungeon in Orthanc… Saruman's furious face floated up through the blackness of her consciousness and she shivered. But that could have just been from the cold. The damp, black stones of the floor were freezing.

Suddenly her muddled thoughts froze in fear. Her gloves… Where were her gloves? She could see her naked fingers above the metal cuffs that kept her prisoner. And there, glaringly obvious in the dark, shone the Yavannacor. Someone had taken off her gloves. But why leave the ring? Suddenly she remembered her reaction when Elrond had tried to take the ring from her finger. Maybe whoever had taken off the gloves hadn't been able to take the ring. She tried to think, tried to remember if she had been conscious when her gloves came off, but she didn't remember anything. And really it didn't matter. She was sure they had noticed the ring and if they noticed they would tell Saruman. And if they didn't tell him, he would soon see for himself. Either way, she didn't have a lot of time. She focused on the room around her.

There wasn't a lot to look at. It was round and small, no bigger than an empty storage room. The only light came from a small barred window in the heavy wooden door across from her and that was faint and flickering like torchlight. She was only bound by her hands and she yanked at the chains experimentally. But they were heavy links. There was no way she could break them. She felt like she would be lucky if she could cut through soft butter. How long had it been since she'd eaten solid food? Her stomach ached at the thought.

As if on cue, she heard soft footsteps outside the door. Panicked, she quickly worked to spin the Yavannacor around on her finger so the emerald was inside her palm. Then she clenched her fists as tight as she could, praying it would be enough. The door creaked open and a small orc scurried into the room bearing a tray.

"Lord Saruman bids you eat." He growled.

He shuffled toward her with the tray. She could see a loaf of bread and a mug. She pressed her back against the wall. The orc was right in front of her. He picked up the bread and held it in front of her.

"Eat."

She glared and turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him set the bread back on the tray. Then he backhanded her. Her head snapped around and she gasped.

He picked up the bread again, "Eat." He said in the same bored tone.

She regained her composure and glared again. But the bread looked good. And she wouldn't have a chance of saving anyone, least of all herself if she starved herself. Grudgingly, she opened her mouth. The bread was stuffed in her mouth. It was tough and dry, but she ate it as fast as she could. To her, nothing had ever tasted better. When she had finished half of the loaf, the orc snatched it away from her and lifted the mug.

"Drink."

She slowly put her lips to the rim and sipped. She was surprised to taste cold, clear water. She gulped until the mug was ripped from her lips and replaced again with the bread. She finished the loaf and the mug. Then the orc shuffled out the door without a sound and she heard the scrape of a lock being turned. She sighed. She felt better and her head was clearer. She wondered how long she had been in this prison cell. Then she wondered how much longer she would be here. How much longer did she have before Saruman realized that all he needed to do was take the ring and he didn't need her? How much longer was she going to live? Could she possibly drag out her confrontation long enough for the Ents to arrive? And would that even save her? If he saw the Ents coming, would Saruman just kill her out of spite?

She sagged against her chains. Hopelessness filled her chest and made it hard to breathe. . She didn't have a chance of fooling Saruman. He was one of the most cunning men in Middle-Earth. He would see right through her. And even if he did decide to keep her alive out of some sick desire to see her suffer, there was no one to come for her, no one to save her. She was alone in this world of monsters. A sob burst out of her. She cried out loud, not caring who heard. She wasn't a strong person. She was small, and alone, and terrified. And it wasn't fair that she had been dragged here to die!

"What the hell was the point of that!" she screamed, "What the hell was the point in any of it!" Then she just screamed as loud as she could and stomped her feet and yanked on her chains until she wore herself out and her voice was hoarse. Then she sagged against the wall again, exhausted. She closed her eyes and unbidden, Boromir's face lifted itself out of the darkness and smiled at her.

"_I do not lack the strength. I will carry you if need be."_

God, how she needed him right now. Why couldn't he be here? Then she shook her head. Even if he was alive, she wouldn't want him here. Because if he were here, it would mean that he was going to die anyway. One man could not stand up to a wizard, not even one as great as Boromir. No if he were alive she would want him safely on his way to Minas Tirith, to defend his city from the onslaught of the enemy that was coming, to give his father and his brother hope in a hopeless time. And she was sure if he were alive that was where he would be. His city meant more to him than anything. And he loved his family. He would have done anything for them.

But he wasn't alive. She had failed him. And so she had failed Gondor and Minas Tirith and Denethor and Faramir. She had failed in so many things. Hell she couldn't even keep herself alive! What had Yavanna been thinking, bringing her here?

"_The ring chooses its mistress. You were chosen, Melody Calenhiril, by Eru himself."_

"Yeah, well, Eru is an idiot." Mel murmured. She instantly felt bad for saying it.

"_You may choose how you wish. But every choice has consequence."_

So had she made the wrong choice? Was that the point? Was that why she was going to die in the hands of a mad man? Because she had chosen to try to save the man she loved, despite everyone telling her the choice was foolish? Was it a foolish choice? After all, what had she accomplished? A whole lot of nothing. Boromir had still died and now she was going to die too and the Yavannacor was going to be abused by a power-crazed wizard intent on controlling the world! Fat lot of good she'd done!

She sighed. But it was a choice she had made. And she couldn't change it. All she could do was suffer the consequences, and mourn for those she had failed, until her captor saw fit to end her pain. And pray that outside everything else was going to plan. Because if anything else was ruined because of her, she didn't think she could bear it.

--

"Merry!" Pippin yelped as he reached for his cousin. Merry tumbled out of the old tree and landed on his back. The orc straddled him, a sword at his throat. Merry tried to fight, as Pippin watched helplessly.

Suddenly, something under his fingers twitched. He froze. It twitched again. Slowly he turned. A giant pair of yellow eyes blinked back at him. Fear paralyzed him. The tree was blinking. He snatched his hand from the trunk with terror.

"Agh!" But he lost his balance. Slowly he felt himself tumbling through the air and he closed his eyes waiting to hit the ground. But he was snatched out of the air by a huge hand. His eyes flew open. A tree branch was wrapped around his middle. He struggled to free himself, but the tree barely seemed to notice him. Then half its trunk lifted from the ground and moved forward, followed by the other half. The tree was walking! Pippin's head reeled. He looked down. The tree's trunk came crashing down, squishing the orc like a giant beetle. Merry lay on the ground, frozen with wide eyes.

"Run, Merry!" Pippin screamed. If Merry could only escape… His cousin scrambled up, but he got no more than two steps before the giant walking tree scooped him up in his other hand. Then, as the tree strolled through the dim forest, Pippin saw a hole rip open below the eyes.

"_It's going to eat us!"_

But instead, a sound like wood on wood came out of the hole, "Little orcs! Burarum."

"It's talking, Merry. The tree is talking." Pippin whispered in awe.

"Tree? I am no tree! I am an Ent!" The Ent sounded indignant.

"A treeherder!" Merry said, suddenly excited, "A shepherd of the forest!"

Pippin wanted to tell Merry not to talk to it, but then he remembered Mel and how easily she had spoken to trees, "_Yes, Pip, they're just like real people. They have distinct voices and personalities. And most are very good conversationalists."_

"Treebeard, some call me." The Ent rambled on.

Pippin swallowed and made his first attempt to talk to the Ent, "And who's side are you on?"

"Side? I am on nobody's side. Because nobody is on my side, little orc. Nobody cares for the woods anymore."

"That's not true!" Pippin yelled, "Mel's on your side!"

"Pippin, shut up!" Merry hissed, "And we aren't orcs." He said louder, addressing Treebeard, "We are Hobbits!"

"Hobbits? Never heard of a hobbit before. Sounds like orc mischief to me" Treebeard growled. Pippin felt the wooden fingers tighten around him and he gasped and tried to pull himself out, "They come with fire, they come with axes, biting, breaking, hacking, burning! Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!"

"No, you don't understand! We are hobbits, Halflings, Shirefolk!"

"Please!" Pippin cried out, "We know the Lady of the Yavannacor!"

Treebeard paused midstride, "The Yavannacor?" The iron grip loosened slightly. He seemed to be mulling the name over in his head and Pippin wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. Merry was glaring at him as if he had, "You are friends to Calenhiril?" He asked.

"We call her Mel." Pippin said, ignoring Merry's warning look, "But she talks to the trees and they do what she asks and she heals them and she has a ring called the Yavannacor and she's on your side!" He added in a rush.

There was a long pause. Then the tree started to stroll through the forest again, "I don't know how you would know of these things, or if you are orc or other creature, made for good or evil. But the White Wizard will know, harum hum."

Pippin's face fell, "The White Wizard…" he whispered. Then he knew he'd made a terrible mistake.

"Saruman…" Merry whispered.

Suddenly, the giant fingers let go and they both went tumbling to the ground. Slowly, Pippin raised his eyes and saw The White Wizard.

--

A/N: Well, there you go, another element to the story. I hope you enjoy even though this chapter is a little short. Hopefully next one will be out soon!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: At the request of one of my faithful reviewers, shariena, I am going to start this chapter off with the reaction of Pippin and Merry to meeting "The White Wizard". But never fear, I have not forgotten about Mel, wasting away in Orthanc or her rescuer, Boromir. We'll get to them a little bit later. For now, a little hobbit fun!

**Chapter 6**

"Gandalf!" Pippin scrambled to his feet and launched himself at the wizard, wrapping his arms around him, "Gandalf, Gandalf, we lost you when you fell and that thing got you, and, oh Gandalf it's all my fault!" He started crying despite himself.

"Here now, here now!" Gandalf cried out, but the sound was soothing and Pippin felt the wizard's arms wrap around him, "No tears at this happy meeting, young Peregrin Took!" Slowly, Gandalf untangled Pippin from his robes and held him at arm's length, "See, I was lost for a time, but now I seem to have been found. What happened in that other life is but the shadow of a dim dream, soon forgotten."

Finally, Merry found his voice, "But the tre… erm, Ent, called you the White Wizard. I thought you were Gandalf the Grey?"

"I was." Gandalf looked up, "And I am. But now I am the White Wizard also, or what they sung of in the beginning…" He trailed off and his eyes glazed over as if he were in deep thought about things Pippin couldn't begin to fathom.

Suddenly behind them came something of a cough, "Harum haroom, young Master Gandalf."

Gandalf's eyes cleared instantly and he smiled up at the Ent, "Treebeard, old friend, have these hobbits been quite troublesome?"

"Trouble, no, no trouble yet, but let us not be hasty." Treebeard harrumphed, "They have not yet had a full day to show themselves troublesome or not."

"I can assure you, Master Fangorn, that the hobbits are true to their very cores, loyal to friends and faithful to our cause." Gandalf smiled down at Pippin, "Though they are hasty to a fault most times." He winked and Pippin smiled.

"And yet they seem to know much that has been hidden for many ages." Treebeard said, "They spoke of the Yavannacor."

"Ah! So Melody is still about is she?" Gandalf said, his eyes alight with mischief, "Well, tell her to come out! They told me in Lorien that I missed her by only half a day."

Both Merry and Pippin both hung their heads, "Gandalf," Merry murmured, "She's not here."

Gandalf's eyes took in their sad faces, "But you've seen her haven't you?" His face was grave.

"They wouldn't bring her near the forest." Merry said.

"They had a horrible argument about it!" Pippin exclaimed.

"I guess now we know why, of course." Merry looked up at Treebeard meaningfully.

"But one of them took her away. He just took off across the wide open plain as fast as he could!"

"He went west." Merry added, "I think he was taking her to Isengard."

There was a breath of silence. Then Gandalf murmured, "That is strange news indeed."

"Is it Calenhiril, Gandalf?" Treebeard asked.

The wizard looked up, "Yes, my friend, I'm afraid it is."

Treebeard stood very straight and tall for a moment. Then he cupped his hands about his mouth and let out a loud horn call that reverberated through the woods, like a deep trumpet. There was a moment of silence. Then there was an answering call from across the forest. And another. And another!

Treebeard nodded his head, "The Ents do nothing in haste. But Calenhiril is a matter of great importance. And if she is in Isengard then Entmoot must determine what is to be done, for Saruman no longer cares for growing things."

"An Entmoot?" Pippin asked. He turned to Gandalf, who was smiling again, "Gandalf, what's that?"

"Why don't you go and find out. I have things to see to. Treebeard, I leave them in your care." With that Gandalf leapt from the rock where he had been standing and almost seemed to melt away into the trees.

While Pippin and Merry stood stunned, Treebeard haroomed behind them, "Young Master Gandalf, always so hasty, so busy with his work!" And then out of nowhere, he picked up the hobbits and put one on each shoulder, "Come little hobbits! We are off to Entmoot!"

--

When the door scraped open, Mel barely looked up. Her side ached and her head was throbbing, she barely had enough conscious thought to close her fist around the Yavannacor. But the click of a staff cleared her thoughts considerably. Her head shot up and it made her vision swim. But her eyes soon focused and she saw Saruman standing in the center of the room, looking smug.

"No need to hide any longer, Calenhiril." He cooed, "I know where the power lies. Let me see it." He held out a hand.

She clenched her fist tighter and whispered the first thing that popped in her mind, "Go to hell."

He gave her a half smile, but dropped his arm, "You are sick." He declared, "Perhaps dying. You have a broken rib and I believe the cut on your forehead might possibly be infected. You are undernourished and dehydrated. Without me, you'll be dead in a matter of hours, a day if you're lucky. And then, I will simply take your ring anyway. Are you going to throw away your life for a cause that is hopeless to begin with?"

Now it was Mel's turn to smile, "No cause is hopeless, as long as there is one fool left to fight for it."

There was a pause. Then Saruman's face fell into a scowl, "So you will die for it?" She didn't bother to answer, "I was hoping that with rest and a little time, you would see reason. I want to help you, Calenhiril." She fought from rolling her eyes, "But time is not a luxury I can afford to waste on your mind games." His hand came up again and Mel's heart leapt to her throat, "And so now, Calenhiril, I shall have that ring of yours."

She braced herself and glowered at him, "No." she whispered.

His eyes flashed, "Now, now, let's not make this more difficult than it must be."

Her nails bit into her palm and she was hissing through clenched teeth now, "No."

"Very well." Suddenly, the ring began to burn against her flesh. She gasped, but still she held on as tightly as she could. He couldn't take it. He WOULDN'T take it!

"No!" she screamed, "No, no, no, NO!"

But she felt the metal blistering her finger and the jewel was like a white hot coal burning a hole in her palm. Slowly, the ring inched its way up, forcing her hand open, inch by painful inch. Now she was just screaming, tears of fear, and anger, and hatred pouring down her face. She glared at the wizard. A cruel smile warped his face into a gross mask of insanity. Then his wrist gave a sharp twist and the Yavannacor flew into his open palm.

It was as if a piece of her soul had been ripped from her body. A part of her brain she hadn't even been aware of shut down. There was a fuzzy static in her mind and her thoughts were almost incoherent. She sagged against the chains, unable to hold herself up. She felt nothing, no pain, no emotion, just the blank spot on her finger where her ring had rested comfortably for so many months. Slowly, the blankness seemed to spread until it covered everything in her. What was she supposed to do now? The shackles suddenly released her and she sank to the ground, barely aware of their absence. She felt so lost, so helpless, so alone.

She heard Saruman like an echo of a voice in another room, "Because you defied me, you will die slowly. And no one will come to you again. You will die alone in this room, knowing that everything and everyone you fought for is doomed. That is my punishment."

She didn't notice when he left. She only knew that he was gone. And that the Yavannacor had gone with him. Everything was gone. She curled up against the wall and concentrated on making herself as small as possible. She cradled her hand, rubbing the blisters, forcing herself to feel pain, to keep from falling into the insanity that threatened to overwhelm her.

Finally, one lucid thought pulled itself out of her jumbled brain.

_I have lost everything. And now I'm going to die._

She began to sob.

--

Deep in Fangorn Forest the trees began to rumble. The sound startled Pippin out of his dreams of the Shire. At first he thought it was the Ents, still conversing in the clearing. But as he fought off the fog of sleep, he realized it was not the tree shepherds making the racket. The trees themselves were groaning!

"Merry!" He whispered, shaking his cousin, "Merry, wake up!"

Merry groaned and flopped over, "What is it, Pip? Are the Ents fighting?"

"No, something's happened." Pippin said, eyeing the trees around them nervously, "The forest isn't happy about it."

"Hum haroom, the trees sense the disturbance of power from Isengard." Treebeard mumbled, coming up behind them, "The Yavannacor has been parted from its keeper."

Pippin's eyes widened, "Its keeper…"

"Mel!" Merry yelped, leaping to his feet, "He's got Mel! He's taken her ring! We've got to do something!"

Treebeard leaned back, waving a branch-like hand in the air, "Now don't be hasty, Master Meriadoc."

"Hasty?!" Merry exclaimed, "Mel is our friend! She needs our help! Who knows what he's done to her! How can you just stand around and talk?"

"The Calenhiril is an important part of the order of the forest, Master Meriadoc, and we do not take her capture lightly!" Treebeard huffed. The two hobbits took a couple of steps back with the force of his words. Treebeard noticed and his branches shivered as if to shake off his anger, "But you have to understand, little hobbits, it takes a long time to say anything in Old Entish. So we never say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say."

Then Treebeard turned and walked away. Pippin sighed and glanced at the trees, still shuddering and moaning, as if in a great storm.

"I hope Mel is alright." He whispered.

--

Legolas followed Aragorn into the dark, damp of Fangorn Forest. Immediately he felt the air close in about him, the brilliant blue of the morning sky blotted out by tangled tree limbs. His eyes darted to and fro amongst the shadows, waiting for the malice he felt to materialize.

He jumped when Gimli spit, "Orc blood!" the dwarf growled.

Aragorn knelt in the moist earth and ran his hands along the ground, "These are strange tracks."

"The air is so close here." Gimli muttered.

"This forest is old." Legolas explained, "Very old. Full of memory… and anger!" All three of them turned as the trees groaned and creaked around them. Legolas smiled, "The trees are speaking to each other!" He exclaimed, "Oh to think if Mel had come here!"

Legolas could picture her face, the glow as she spoke with these trees and her smile as they answered her. If only she were here, she should be here…

"Gimli!" Aragorn whispered, pulling Legolas' mind back to the present, "Lower your axe!"

Slowly, Gimli lowered his axe, "Wouldn't you know that when we actually need that useless girl she's nowhere to be found!"

The tree closest to Gimli started to tremble and Gimli jumped and skittered away. Legolas smiled, "Be careful what you say, my friend. They have feelings, just as Mel told us." His eyes wandered the forest, "The Elves began it: waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

Gimli huffed, "I just don't understand it. What do trees have to talk about? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings!"

But Legolas was no longer listening to the dwarf's mindless muttering. Something had caught his ears and his eyes followed the sound deep into the dim forest, not so unlike his home.

"Aragorn, nad no ennas! (Something is out there!)" He called as he darted further into the trees, trying not to lose sight of the thing that had caught his attention. What was it? What could possibly…? He skidded to a stop as the power swelled over him, the power emanating from the man he was following. But it was no man…

Aragorn leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Man cenich? (What do you see?)"

Legolas eyes darted to the right, "The White Wizard approaches." He murmured.

He heard Aragorn sigh and he notched an arrow to the string of his bow, "Do not let him speak, he will put a spell on us." Aragorn whispered, "We must be quick."

Legolas closed his eyes, "_Mel…"_

The three moved as one, turning to face the wizard. But the brilliant light of the mid-morning sun burst through the trees and blinded them all, leaving them helpless. Legolas shot his arrow anyway, knowing he had the best chance of the three to make the kill. But the wizard leaped forward and swatted his arrow away like no more than a passing mosquito. Gimli gave a war whoop and flung his axe through the air, but it was also turned away with a resounding clang. He heard Aragorn cry out and turned just as the Ranger dropped his red-hot sword.

Then the wizard spoke, "You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits."

The voice was enchanted, Legolas could hear it. But it didn't sound harmful. It was more like… a disguise? But it was the voice of Saruman, the fell voice from the mountain of Caradhas. He would never forget the sound of that voice shouting curses at them from afar. He felt a deep anger building inside him.

"Where are they?" Aragorn cried.

"They passed this way, the day before yesterday." He was so calm, so cool. It infuriated Legolas! This man was destroying Middle-Earth, in league with the Dark Lord himself! And he had taken Mel! He had her, locked away somewhere, torturing her, hurting her! "They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Nothing you say could comfort me, you hideous, lying snake!" Legolas hissed, his anger finally boiling over, "Where are the hobbits? Where is Mel? What have you done with her?!"

He lunged toward the light, fury blinding reason, searching out any way to get his hands on the figure that had caused so much hurt. But of course it was a useless effort. The wizard's staff blocked his advance and shoved him away, as easily as a child's toy. He fell back into the dirt and lay there for a moment. That blow could have knocked him out of the forest entirely. The power had been there. But the wizard hadn't used it. Why?

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked, "Show yourself!"

Legolas sat up, just as the light that had hidden the wizard dimmed. He stepped forward, like a man out of a long forgotten dream.

"It cannot be!" Aragorn gasped. Gandalf smiled down at them.

Legolas scrambled up and bowed before him, ashamed, "Forgive me," he whispered, "I mistook you for Saruman."

"And attacked me anyway." Gandalf said, his voice now fully his own and equal parts surprised and amused, "Love does cloud all judgment, even the judgment of elves." Legolas felt his heart stop. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, stunned. He felt the sting of the words as they injured his pride and forced him to look inside himself. Love was a strong word and not thrown about by men of power lightly. It was not even a word that he threw about lightly.

Gandalf seemed not to notice his inner turmoil, "But there is nothing to forgive! For I am Saruman. Or rather Saruman as he should have been. Rise, Legolas, son of Thranduil! It is not right that an Elven Prince should kneel in the dirt for so long."

Slowly, Legolas rose to his feet. Immediately, his eyes met Gimli's. The dwarf winked at him, then slapped him on the back. The gesture did little to ease his mind. The last thing he needed was Gimli's sharp tongue on the matter of his heart. He sighed inwardly and mentally prepared himself for the battle of wits he was sure would come.

--

A/N: Well, I don't know that this is the best place to stop, but it's where I'm stopping. I know, no Boromir in this one, but trust me, I haven't forgotten him. He will play a very important role in the next chapter I promise! I was kinda using this chapter to show how Mel's presence has sort of affected everything. And I'm sure there will be more to come! Anyway, on to Chapter 7!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Boromir woke as the sun was setting, just as he had hoped. He wrapped his cloak about him and peered over the outcropping of rock that had been his shelter for the day. He was just within sight of the gates of Isengard. The activity inside the stronghold had increased and he could hear the clang of metal and the grunts and roars of orcs as they scurried about. It looked to Boromir like they were preparing for war. Would Saruman really be foolish enough to attack Gondor? Or did he target the land of the Horse-lords instead? To Boromir that seemed just as foolish. Rohan would not topple easily. The Rohirrim were strong and clever and more than capable of defending themselves. What did Saruman hope to achieve?

But he couldn't dwell on that. Not now. He sought out the sentries that he was sure would be guarding the gates. But he found none. His eyes darted about wildly. How could there be no outside guard? Was Saruman so confident in his own power that he thought his tower impenetrable? Or perhaps he never dreamed that someone might be foolish enough to simply walk into Isengard, alone and armed only with his sword. Boromir himself could barely believe it. What chance had he against an army of orcs and a wizard?

He stopped himself before despair could overwhelm him. He had to focus! He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, searching for the peace and steadiness that had guided him through so many dangers, so many battles, so many situations that had seemed hopeless. A vision of Melody's face smiled at him.

"_Save the Daughter of Yavanna."_ The voice seemed to float out of the shadows of the dusk and gently brush his ears, "_Save my child."_

He opened his eyes. Night had fully fallen. The glow of Isengard's fires lit the way. Without another thought, Boromir lifted his hood, hoping the shadows would hide his face, and slipped down the hillside.

--

She lived in a dark world of ghosts and visions. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep, and yet she dreamed. Bits of her life replayed behind her closed lids. Her mother's soft voice sang lullabies in her ear, her first kiss by the swing set with a boy with gray eyes who grew up to be a man that she read about in books. No, no that was a different boy. Or maybe it wasn't. A soft golden forest with elves and talking trees. But the trees were silent. Legolas was there and he was holding her.

"_Do not despair, mellon. You have friends with you. We will see you through to the end of these dark days."_

A visit to the aquarium when she was ten. The octopus grabbed her and threw her against the wall and made her cry. But the boy with gray eyes whispered softly, "_Melody… Melody, wake up."_ But she couldn't wake up because she wasn't asleep.

Then someone stepped on her foot. Gimli called out, "_Come on girl! Get up! I'm not going to carry you!"_ Or was that her father? "_You've got to go to school, Mel! Get up, you're gonna be late! I'm not gonna tell you again!"_

"_John, I think she might be sick."_ Her mother's voice.

"Mom…" She whispered.

She opened her eyes, but it was not her mother's face that smiled down at her. It was Yavanna.

"_Hold on a little while longer, Calenhiril."_ She whispered, "_Just a little while longer."_

"I'm not Calenhiril." Mel whispered, "I'm not anything anymore."

Mel blinked slowly. When her eyes opened again, Eregwen was leaning over her, "_You promised, Mel."_ She whispered, "_You promised to come back. See how easily promises are broken."_ The elven nurse smiled. Then she leaned back into the shadows. "_She has pneumonia. We're doing all we can for her, Mrs. Bernston. Just give it time."_

"_Hold on just a little while longer, baby."_ Her mother's voice whispered in the dark, "_Someone's coming for you. Just hold on a little while longer."_

She tried to tell her mom that no one was coming for her, no one was out there to rescue her. But she couldn't find the strength to talk to the ghosts anymore. She sighed and let the words blanket her mind, "_Just a little while longer, only a little while longer, just hold on…"_

--

It seemed to take an impossibly long time to cross Isengard to the tower of Orthanc. Boromir was reminded of why he always made his brother play spy. He had not the patience for it, jumping at shadows and shrinking from firelight, all the while trying to move forward through the sea of enemy eyes. But as he had suspected all eyes were turned elsewhere and time and again he slipped through the darkness, unseen. But all he wanted to do was run as fast as he could, straight for the tower, up the steps and demand Melody's immediate release. Over and over again he had to remind himself why that would never work. He would be dead before he reached the steps. But every moment he spent sneaking about was another moment that could be Melody's last. He fought back a fear of what he might find if he were too late, horrifying images that he had to steel himself against so he could focus on the task in front of him.

The tower loomed in the darkness, but it seemed to come no closer as he wound carefully through the orcs and the fires that burned from holes in the ground. He risked only a short glimpse into one of the chasms and he saw what appeared to be a huge smithy with orcs scurrying through the shimmering heat, beating out weapons and armor. He hurried on before he was seen. From what he could tell, most of the orcs were in the underground cavern. He moved forward with a watchful eye, but he was more sure of himself and less jumpy. He just had to make it to Orthanc.

And when he reached the tower, what then? Would he wander about aimlessly, hoping against hope that he would stumble upon Melody's prison by happy chance? Or worse yet, until he was discovered? Would Saruman show mercy and kill him quickly? Or would he be stuffed into some deep and disused corner, left to rot? What choices did he truly have? There was no way to know where the wizard would keep her. All he could do was hope for a miracle.

He passed into a shadow and looked up. The tower of Orthanc glowered down at him like an angry black giant. He hurried deeper into the shadows, until he was leaning against the cold stones. He was on the far side of the tower, away from the glowing underground furnaces. He closed his eyes for a moment to calm his frayed nerves and steady his thoughts. He had no other choice. He had to find Melody. Even if it meant death, he had to find her. He would find her.

He opened his eyes and began to move along the curve of the tower wall. There would be more than one entrance to the tower, it only made sense. Saruman would never leave himself with only one way out. Boromir was counting on the wizard's famed wisdom. And he was not disappointed. Almost immediately he came upon a wooden door, almost completely lined up with the exterior of the wall. He would have missed it, if his fingers hadn't been running the length of the stone and come upon the wood. He drew his sword and tugged the door open. Even in the dim light, he could tell that the door led no where. It was only a storage room. He closed it again and continued on. A few yards on he came upon another door. This one was harder to distinguish, for it was made of the same stone as the tower. But he felt the seam in the rock. This had to be what he was looking for. It was well hidden, with no visible way inside. There would be a catch or a password. He took a step back and sighed. He could stare all day at that hole in the rock and never come up with the answer.

"…_wisdom…"_

He whirled around, sword held ready. But it was no more than a whisper in the wind. His eyes darted through the darkness, but found no one. The soft voice had been familiar, like the voice of the woman in his dreams who was not a woman at all. The voice of Yavanna.

"Wisdom," He breathed. What could that mean? His mind raced as he turned back to the door. If only he could just kick the door in! But where would be the wisdom in that? There had to be something to it. He closed his eyes and thought.

"Nolë…" he murmured. It was the elvish word for wisdom, one of the few that had stuck from his lessons. It was so important to his father…

There was a soft click. His eyes flew open. Instead of a stone door, there was a gaping black hole in the wall. For a moment he just stood and stared in shock. Could it have truly been that simple? He took a single step forward, ready to strike if someone materialized in the blackness. Nothing happened. The door still stood open, ready to invite him in. He took another step, and another. And then, he was inside the doorway. Then he was inside the tower itself. Behind him, the stone door silently swung shut and clicked into place again.

Instantly, a light flickered to life. He jumped. But no one was there. The light was from a torch by his head that seemed to have lit itself. He let his eyes adjust, and then looked around him. He was in a small empty room. The only way out seemed to be a flight of stairs that led downward, but beyond the first few steps he could not see. Carefully, he reached for the torch. His fingers wrapped around the wood, and then he paused, waiting to see if anything happened. Nothing did. Slowly, he eased the torch from its bracket, listening for anything, a click, a twang, any sound that would indicate a trap or an alarm. There was no sound. He released the breath he hadn't known he was holding and started down the stairs.

He had gone down twenty steps when he saw another light ahead. He quickly put down his own and pressed himself against the wall. But the light didn't move. Slowly he crept down the rest of the steps until he was just inside another doorway that looked out into a long hall. He glanced both ways. It seemed to be deserted. He took a single step into the empty passage.

And that was when he heard the angry shouts.

--

Then, an impossibly real sound shattered her hazy dreams. A door screeched on it's hinges and slammed into a stone wall.

"Why won't it work?!"

Her body was jerked upright and pressed flat against the wall. Saruman's crazed black eyes flashed.

"Why won't this ring summon the trees of the forest?" He clamped a hand around her neck, "Why can't I bend them to my will?"

She choked out a laugh, "Maybe they don't like you."

The wizard snarled and suddenly she was flying through the air. She hit the wall and sank to the floor, but she was overcome with an uncontrollable case of the giggles.

"The trees don't like you!" she gasped, "Imagine that. You burn up all their friends and relatives and then wonder why their pissed!" She couldn't stop laughing, even though it hurt like hell. It was all so ridiculous!

Saruman grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back. He shoved his hand in her face, the Yavannacor on his finger, "This gave you power." He hissed, "You could control the trees! How?"

Her giggles had stopped. Her fuzzy mind was slowly working. Why wouldn't it work for him? "I didn't control anything." She whispered, "All I did was ask."

"You must have controlled something!" He shrieked.

But Mel barely heard him. Something had occurred to her, "The Yavannacor isn't about taking control." She murmured, "It's about giving it."

The ring gave power to the trees, not to her! She was just a carrier of that power. The Yavannacor gave the trees control of themselves! It was all so simple she couldn't believe Saruman, in all his wisdom, hadn't figured it out. It was so crazy that she started giggling again, this time with relief. Saruman would never be selfless enough to give up control of anything. The trees were perfectly safe.

Saruman's face darkened. Slowly, he stood up, "You are more useless than I thought." His voice was calm again.

Then, his staff cracked her on the head and everything went black.

--

The shouts were the shouts of a man. Immediately, Boromir leaped into action. He sprinted down the hall in the direction of the voice. The sound bounced and echoed off the walls and he hoped that he was going in the right direction. He sprinted past a few hallways and briefly wondered if he should have turned. But there was no time for debate. He ran on. Torches were becoming fewer and fewer and he began to believe that maybe he should have kept his with him. He stopped for a moment and removed one from it's bracket and went on. Then he heard laughter. A woman's laughter. Melody's laughter. His heart skipped a beat. He skidded to a stop and listened, hardly daring to believe his ears. Then he turned right and kept running. Could it be possible?

Then he clearly heard a man's shriek, "You must have controlled something!"

He stopped. That had been from just around the next corner. He quickly doused his light in the dirt and pressed himself against the wall as he edged forward. Then, slowly, he peered around the corner. A single orc stood outside a large open door. He looked nervous, shuffling about and fiddling with a strap of loose leather around his wrist.

Laughter started floating from the door again. Boromir felt his heart stop. Something was wrong. It was Melody's laugh, but it sounded odd, wild and uncontrolled. There was a murmur from inside the room and suddenly, the laughter ceased, as if it had been cut off. His heart leaped to his throat. What had happened? His hand tightened on his sword and his breath quickened.

_Please…_ he thought, afraid to even think the terrible fear that gripped him, _Please, not when I'm so close…_

A man with long white hair swept out of the room, slamming the door and locking it behind him. His robes were dingy white and he walked with a white staff. It could only be Saruman. The wizard turned to the orc, who was suddenly still as a statue.

"Leave her for the moment." Saruman commanded, "She won't be doing any harm. She's close to death now. If she's still alive by morning, finish her. I grow tired of her games."

The orc bowed low, "Yes, my lord." He rasped.

Boromir's breath caught in his throat. She was close to death. What had they done to her, to bring her close to death in just a few days? His blood boiled at the thought. He watched as Saruman strode down the hall away from him, the orc scurrying along behind. He thought about how easy it might be to come up behind him, to run him through, so quickly he wouldn't even see him coming. He imagined the look of shock and horror on his face as he lay dying on the floor of his own tower.

Then he had to remind himself that it would never work. Even if he managed to kill the wizard, which he doubted, he would never make it out of the tower alive. And then who would save Melody? And so he watched and waited until Saruman and the orc had passed out of sight and their footsteps had faded into nothing. Then, he grabbed the single torch that lit the corridor and crept toward the prison door.

--

She saw the torchlight flicker from behind her eyelids and she scrunched herself into a tiny ball, huddling closer to the wall and screwing her eyes shut against the light. If she could just make herself small enough…

"Melody?"

That voice… she knew that voice… but it had never trembled before…

A boot scraped on the stones, "Oh, Melody, what have they done to you?"

Was this all just another dream, another hazy vision that would morph into something horrible when she opened her eyes? But how could she resist the lure of that voice? She heard the sounds of someone kneeling beside her and she couldn't help herself. She opened her eyes, squinting past the firelight, too frightened to believe…

Gray eyes wavered before her, set in that same strong face, framed by long dark hair. She sighed and relaxed.

"Thank god," she whispered, relief washing over her, "I'm dead."

The vision shook his head, "No, Melody. I've come to get you. To take you away from here."

She smiled up at him, "And they couldn't have picked a better angel of death. At least I get to see your face one more time before I go, even if you are a ghost."

Then the vision did something extraordinary. He reached out and took her hands in his, "You are not dead." He said, "Nor will I allow you to die. Not here, not ever."

She heard his words, but they were nothing. She felt his touch. She was cold and dirty and aching and her head throbbed. She couldn't be dead. But she felt his hands on hers. The skin was rough, but the touch was gentle and warm. Real, flesh and blood hands…

She grabbed one hand and held it tightly, something to ground her in a world that threatened to spin upside down and dump her into a black abyss. But the other she released. She felt his arm, covered in tattered cloth and leather, solid beneath her hand. Slowly, she traveled its length, and continued upward, elbow, shoulder, neck. And finally, that face, the face that had worn so many masks, anger, hatred, betrayal, greed, pride. But now all masks were gone. What was underneath was real. And his eyes looked out at her. His real eyes.

She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, "You're real." She whispered, trying to stifle her sobs, "My god, you're real."

--

A/N: Tadah!!! That's all I have to say.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry it's been so long, I've been working hard on my vampire novel lately and then freaked out and wouldn't let me log on for like three days! Anyway, here's your next chapter!

**Chapter 8**

For a few infinite moments, Boromir was lost in overwhelming relief. Melody was alive, badly beaten and slightly delirious, but alive! He held on to her as if she were a dream, a vision that would flicker and fade if he let her go. But slowly, reality began to creep into his consciousness. He became aware of where they were and he remembered the last words of Saruman.

"_If she's still alive by morning, finish her."_

How close was it to sunrise now? Could they make it across the expanse of Isengard without notice? Could she even walk?

"Melody, we must leave this place." He whispered, "Can you stand?"

She sniffed and nodded into his shoulder. Boromir got to his feet and held out a hand for her. She took it and he was suddenly aware of how small and helpless she looked. The right side of her face was swollen and blood had dried on the left side of her face from a nasty gash on her forehead. He gritted his teeth in fury and forced it away. He gently helped her to her feet. For a moment she seemed well enough, but then she tried to take a step. Boromir saw her sway and caught her arm before she fell. She tried to use his arms to push herself upright again, but her efforts were feeble and useless. She couldn't walk. He should have known that. In one smooth motion, he put an arm around her shoulders and swept her legs out from under her. He would have to carry her.

She struggled weakly, "No, I'm ok, I'm ok, put me down, I can do it…"

"Melody, you can barely stand." He whispered, "I am not a fool."

"But you're going to take me away." She whispered, "I can't go without it. I have to get it back."

She was falling into delirium again. He could feel the heat coming from her body. She was raging with fever and that made him angry all over again. He fought down his emotions and turned to carry her out of the room. But she was still ranting.

"No, please, wait! We can't just leave it with him! He'll destroy it! What if he figures it out? Boromir, stop!"

She hit his arm and that made him pause. What was so damn important? He looked down. Tears were in her eyes.

"Please, we have to get it back." She whispered.

"What Melody? What do we have to get back?"

She grimaced. Slowly, she started to pull out her right hand, which he hadn't noticed was wrapped in her shirt until that moment. Then she held it up for him to see. It was red and swollen and the ring finger was covered in festering blisters. She cradled it against her chest and tears made dirty tracks down her cheeks and dripped onto the burns.

"He took it from me." she whispered, "He took the Yavannacor. I couldn't stop him." She looked up at him, "Please," she begged, "Please, we have to get it back."

Boromir's blood boiled. He gripped her tightly and almost took off running to do exactly as she asked. How could that monster cause her such pain and still be living? It was completely unacceptable! But a voice that sounded strangely like his brother's stopped him.

_You can't possibly expect to confront a wizard alone and live to tell about it. No matter how important this is to her or to you, it isn't as important as keeping Melody alive. Remember why you came here! Do you want it all to be for nothing? If you are dead, who will take Melody away from this horrible place? Who will save her?_

He looked down into those pleading eyes and realized that the eyes were more important to him than the thing that they pleaded for, "I'm sorry, Melody." He whispered. Her eyes widened into a horrified stare, "I am only one man. I cannot hope to defeat a wizard and his army and rescue you from this pit also."

The admission was painful for him. He wanted desperately to be a hero, to do anything that she asked of him, to banish that look of horror and disappointment from her eyes. It became even more painful with her next words.

"But, you're Boromir! You've defeated armies practically single-handedly! You're telling me that one stupid wizard is too much for you? What kind of a weakling did I risk my life for anyway?! I almost died because of you! And you won't even TRY to do this for me! You're disgusting! Why didn't you just stay dead?!"

Those last words pierced his heart like a knife. It was all he could do to keep walking through the passageways. She glared up at him from his arms and he put on a blank mask to hide the pain that she caused him. She was right of course. She had risked her life for him, and he had been nothing but cruel and hideous to her. All she had ever done was try to help him. She was right. He was disgusting. But even if she wished him dead that did not change the fact that her life meant more to him than anything that she could say.

She was feverish and delirious, he told himself. She didn't really know what she was saying. She wouldn't remember any of this once she was well. These thoughts did not comfort him. Melody turned her face away from him and remained silent as they twisted through the dark halls. Before he opened the secret door, he risked a glance at her face. Her eyes were closed. She was asleep. He pulled up his hood and wrapped his cloak around them, praying to whatever god might be watching that it would be enough and slipped into the blackness of the night outside.

--

Gandalf led them through the forest, now wrapped in a gray cloak to conceal his robes that proclaimed his new status as The White Wizard, "One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed."

"Edoras?" Gimli and Legolas exclaimed at the same time. They glanced at each other and Gimli smiled, but Legolas could not feel any humor. Edoras was not the direction he had been hoping to take.

Aragorn ignored them, concentrating wholly on the wizard, "We hear of trouble in Rohan. It goes ill with the king."

"Yes," Gandalf replied, "And it will not be easily cured."

"Then we have run all this way for nothing?" Gimli asked, "Are we to leave those poor hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested…" A tree rumbled and Gimli jumped, "I mean, charming, quite charming forest!"

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

"And Mel?" Legolas asked, unable to stay silent any longer, "Are we to abandon her to the devices of Saruman? Perhaps I should go…"

"No!" Gandalf cried, whirling on the Elf, "You are needed elsewhere, Legolas. And if you are wise you will leave your feelings in this forest and never think on them again. Melody is in the hands of the Valar now. What they choose to do with her is not your concern!"

Legolas was taken aback at the sharpness of the wizard's voice. He took a step back, but he couldn't completely wipe the anger from his face. Gandalf's eyes seemed to soften a bit and he placed a hand on the Elf's shoulder, "Forgive me, Legolas. I speak this way only to help you accept that which you cannot change. You will need a clear head in the days to come. Remember that. Melody would not want you to sacrifice yourself or the safety of Middle-Earth for her." Gandalf's eyes wandered to the forest around them, "And besides, as it is she will be witness to a thing that has not happened since the Elder Days, something that will change the course of her life forever. The Ents are going to wake up and find that they are strong."

"Strong?" Gimli muttered, "Oh that's good."

Gandalf's attention was brought back to the dwarf and he smiled, "So stop your fretting Master Dwarf!" He exclaimed as he plunged back into the forest, the others following, "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact they are far safer than you are about to be!"

Legolas followed after the others, but his mind was elsewhere. What things was Gandalf talking about, the things he could not change? There were many things he wished that he could change, but none of them seemed like impossibilities. After all, with hope were not all things possible? He would have to comfort himself with that fact until the wizard's riddles were revealed. And he hoped that he would have the strength to accept the things that he could not change if such things ever became clear to him. Until such time, he would keep a clear head and be where he was needed. And pray that Mel was safe. For nothing else seemed as important to him as that.

--

A/N: Kind of short I know, but I think the next one will be longer. Hope you enjoyed! Review and tell me what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Wow… Ok guys, don't hate me, but I kinda forgot that I hadn't posted this chapter :P It's been sitting for probably at least a week now, and I forgot. I hope you can all forgive me. Here you go!

**Chapter 9**

Mel floated through the night like a ghost, her thoughts barely coherent even to herself. Faces flashed before her, so real she thought she might be able to reach out and touch them. She relived parts of her life, but none of it made sense to her. Faces were in places that they didn't belong. Her mother walked the forests of Lothlorien, dressed all in white. Legolas walked her to class on her first day of high school, his blue eyes calming and safe. Her sisters played tag in the courtyards of Rivendell, hiding in trees that grew to provide cover for them. Eregwen once again played the nurse that took care of her when she had pneumonia.

Then Boromir's face loomed in front of her. His eyes were creased in concern. Then, she felt a cool, rough hand brush her cheek. The cool felt so good. She leaned into his hand and sighed. She hadn't realized she was so hot. She closed her eyes and suddenly, she was slammed into the fiery depths of Moria. The Balrog was chasing her down the dark passageways. She was running as fast as she could, but she didn't know where she was going! She looked around and realized that she was alone. The others must have turned and she'd missed it! She screamed, trying to find them, trying to run, trying to escape.

"Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

Boromir's voice found her, "Shhh," he whispered, "Shhhh, I'm here, I'm here Melody. I'll never leave you again."

His voice melted the darkness of the Mines, but in its place was another darkness, the darkness of a starlit night, the scent of flowers on the air, the feel of grass tickling her cheek. She sighed. This was a safe place, a good place. She settled in and hoped that it would last forever. But nothing lasted forever, not in this dream world. She began to shiver and the darkness turned to light. She could smell the tree that hid her from the watchful eyes, but her eyes were closed in terror. He would find her, he would find her and he would kill her! She had to hide and there was no one to protect her. She shivered and her teeth chattered. Something wrapped around her. And she heard words. She didn't know if she imagined them or if they were spoken. Was this real or dream? But she heard the words and knew the voice.

"_Do not despair, mellon. You have friends with you. We will see you through to the end of these dark days."_

Suddenly, she felt safe again, "Legolas." She whispered. His face wavered in front of her, smiling at her. She smiled back and tried to reach out for him, but when she touched his face he shimmered like a reflection in water, and rippled away. In his place was Boromir. But something was wrong. He looked… sad? Angry? Confused? It was a strange and mixed expression. She reached out and touched his face again, thinking that she could make it shimmer away the way Legolas had. But he didn't go away. Her fingers brushed his rough cheek.

"Boromir," She whispered, "You're real."

His eyes darted away, "Does that upset you?"

Her head was still fuzzy. Maybe she hadn't understood his words. Maybe she was dreaming things again, "Why would that upset me?"

He looked up at her again, but he didn't get a chance to speak. There was a deafening roar. Mel shot up, her heart thundering in her chest.

"They're coming!" she gasped, "They're coming for me! I've got to get out of here!"

She threw off the cloak that had been covering her, but Boromir's strong hands kept her down, "No one is coming for you Melody." He whispered soothingly.

Her mind was wild, flickering images of the last few days swirling in a tangled mass in her head, "No, you don't understand! He'll find me! He's gonna kill me! He'll kill YOU! We have to get away from here!"

"They aren't coming for us." His voice didn't falter, his eyes never wavered. His confidence worked to smooth her frazzled nerves, "If they were coming for us, they would have come hours ago."

Mel took a moment to look around her. She was surrounded by stone. She looked up. The sky was a deep shade of blue. There were no stars. What time was it?

She felt a gentle pressure on her shoulders, "Please lie down." Boromir whispered.

She did as he asked, but she looked at him with slowly clearing eyes, "Where are we?" she asked

"In the mountains above Isengard." He replied. He turned and opened a pack. He pulled out a water skin and handed it to her, "Drink. How long has it been since you've eaten?"

She took the skin and as she savored the taste of the cool, clean water, she tried to remember exactly how long it HAD been since she'd eaten anything. When she finally forced herself to jerk the water from her lips she answered, "I don't know. Days, weeks, months. How long has it been since you've seen me?"

"If I can recall accurately, it has been a week." He paused and slowly turned back to her, "You haven't eaten since last I saw you?" She shrank back a little bit when she saw his eyes. They looked like they were smoldering and she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. He must have seen her react because he turned away and began digging in the pack again. He handed her one leaf filled with crushed lembas, "You must eat it slowly." He said. His voice sounded forced. She took the leaf and quietly did as she was told. Her stomach rolled as she ate the crumbs, but she forced them down. Then she took another sip of water. Meanwhile, Boromir had dug out a jar and a handful of cloth and started to smear a paste onto the cloth, "You've been dreaming in a fever all night." His voice seemed reasonably calm again, "This is the first real response I've gotten out of you."

The loud roar repeated itself. Mel jumped. It was like it was right there!

"And what's that?" she asked.

"An army." Boromir stated calmly, "I was actually hoping you could shed some light on that."

"An army? Who's army?"

"Saruman's. Lie still." He reached out and started to unravel the bandage around her head.

She was perfectly still, watching him work. His eyes were intent on the task; his hands were gentle as if she might break under his fingers. And suddenly, it hit her and it hit her hard. He was alive. Boromir was alive. She waited until he was finished taking off the old bandage before she moved. As he turned to pick up the new one, she sat up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"You're alive." She whispered. Tears stung her eyes, "I'm so glad you're alive."

She felt his shoulders stiffen under her. Immediately she let go. That wasn't the response she had been expecting. She remembered the look on his face when she'd woken up. The hurt had been plain on his face. What had she said in her sleep that had upset him so badly? Or maybe she had been awake and she couldn't remember. She tried to remember last night, but everything after she lost the Yavannacor was hazy, some of it lost completely to her. The last clear memory she had was Boromir's face in the tower looking down at her. Everything else was blank.

She started to ask him what was wrong, but he turned and started to rewrap her head. His face was completely blank. She recognized the look. He was hiding from her. And that scared her. The last time he had been hiding from her, he had been furious. For just a moment she was frozen with doubt. Was he angry at her?

"So, what do you know of the army of Saruman? Where does he plan to make war?" His voice was calm and bland, very businesslike. He was forcibly changing the subject.

"He's going after Rohan. He'll attack Helm's Deep." Mel replied, "Do you know what day it is?"

"I fear I have lost my count." He replied. He picked up her right hand, which was also bandaged, and started to remove the cloth, "The best I can guess is late February or early March."

The earth rumbled and metal clashed. Then there was a steady boom, boom, boom, like a marching cadence. Mel closed her eyes and tried not to be nervous, "Are you sure they won't find us here?"

"We are well hidden, Melody. And they aren't looking for us." His voice had softened a bit. She felt him gently bandaging her hand again. She took a deep breath and grabbed his hand.

"Why would I be upset?"

She opened her eyes so she could see his reaction. His reaction was not to react. His face remained blank. He wouldn't meet her eyes. She tried to prod him again.

"Why did you ask me if I was upset when I woke up? Why did you think you would upset me?"

He turned away, his face still blank, "It was not my name that you cried in your dreams." He whispered, "I thought you might be disappointed when the elf was not the one tending you."

The revelation shocked her into silence. Boromir pulled away and walked to the other side of the stone nook, staring over the rocks. Mel let him go without another word. What could she say? She was not in control of her dreams or what she said in her sleep. The fact that her rambling had upset him so much hurt her. She wished that whatever she had said, she could take it all back. But it wouldn't do any good. What was said was said. She didn't know why she had called Legolas' name. He was her friend, he made her feel safe, but so did Boromir. He made her feel safe and needed. Boromir needed her.

Or rather, he HAD needed her. Now that he was alive, when he had no right to be, she wasn't sure if he needed her anymore. Maybe she had served her purpose in his life. But her heart ached at the thought. How could she just slip out of his life when her entire existence had revolved around him for so long? It didn't seem possible. It WASN'T possible! Now that the Yavannacor was gone, he was all she had left of her purpose in being. And she still loved him. How could she leave when she still loved him?

"The army is marching." He said and his voice was bland and businesslike again, "It seems the war has begun."

"He won't win." Mel said. She was surprised by how easily the words tumbled out of her mouth, the words of the future, "King Theoden will keep them at bay until Gandalf brings help."

He whirled and stared at her. Mel wondered why he looked so perplexed.

"Melody," he whispered cautiously, "Gandalf is dead."

The realization that Boromir had no idea what was going on made her laugh, "That's right, you don't know!"

Instantly, he was at her side, his hand on her forehead. She swatted him away, "I'm not sick, Boromir. And I'm not crazy. He's not dead. He's very alive." Her laughter died when she thought of all the pain losing Gandalf had caused, the secrets she'd had to keep. But what could she have done? She couldn't think of any way to do it differently, "He's alive and he's stronger for what he went through. Trust me, everything will be fine."

Boromir looked down at her skeptically and gently placed his hand back on her forehead, "Lucid or not, you are still warm with fever. Perhaps you should rest."

The sun chose that moment to peek out over the rocks that sheltered them. It glared in her face, "How am I supposed to sleep with the sun in my eyes?" She joked.

He smiled at her, "Perhaps you won't sleep. Just rest a moment, Melody."

She smiled back, "If I close my eyes, are you gonna disappear?"

He shook his head and the smile fell from his face, "I will never leave you in danger again, Melody. I swear it."

She did feel tired. She guessed it was because she had been so sick. Or maybe the lembas had made her sleepy. Or maybe she just felt safe. Either way, her eyes drifted closed. The last thing she remembered before she drifted away was the feel of Boromir's rough hand on her cheek.

--

Pippin was starting to get anxious. Two days had passed and it was the afternoon of the third. The Ents had haroomed and hoomed and baroomed the entire three days, never letting up. Merry was almost beside himself. He paced constantly until he had exhausted himself, then he threw himself into the grass and sat twitching and fiddling and mumbling to himself until he couldn't sit still any longer, then he would repeat the whole thing all over again. Pippin tried to learn from the Ents, he tried not to feel hasty. But the length of time seemed to be getting ridiculous, even to him.

_What could they be saying?_

He thought about Mel. Would she still be alright? Would they make it in time? Would they make it at all? Would the Ents just decided to stay in their forests, away from the dangers of war? What were they talking about?

"What are they talking about?!" Merry exclaimed, making Pippin jump with surprise. Merry flopped down beside him, "What is there to discuss? I thought with Mel thrown into all this we would be on our way to Isengard by now!"

"Maybe she's made it more complicated." Pippin suggested, "You know, gave them more to talk about."

"Like what, Pip?! She's their tree woman thingy and she's in danger! What else is there?"

Merry's last word was extremely loud in the sudden silence of the clearing. Both of the hobbits scrambled to their feet, listening carefully. There wasn't a breath of air, not a rustle, not a groan. They looked at each other, afraid to speak.

Then a great ringing shout crashed through the forest, "Ra-hoom-rah!"

Merry and Pippin both cowered down and covered their ears. The trees shook and rattled as if a great wind had blown through their branches. Then they heard the sound of wood on wood, beating out a steady cadence and deep voices boomed through the clearing.

"We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom! We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom!"

"It's started!" Merry cried. He grabbed Pippin's arm and dragged him to his feet, "Come on, Pip! Let's go!"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: And here's Chapter 10! Once again, the round, even number makes me feel like I've accomplished something! J Thank you for supporting me through this story, it's becoming much more difficult to write than I had originally anticipated and your kind words help me immensely!

**Chapter 10**

When Mel woke again, the sun had dipped just below the lip of the rock formation. She sat up and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadows, searching for a miracle. There he was, leaning against rocks keeping watch over Isengard. Everything seemed unusually quiet, and a chill wind blew through the mountains. She pulled the cloak she was using as a blanket up to her chin and then realized she recognized the fabric. She looked down. It was her cloak from Rivendell! The thing had to have magic powers or something! She smiled and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the soft fur lining.

"The army has moved out of Isengard completely." Boromir's voice broke the unnerving silence, "Do you think you can walk?"

Something in his tone and the way his back was still turned to her made her eyes narrow suspiciously, "I think so. Why?"

"I would like to take you to Edoras, so that a trained healer might…"

"No." Her voice was sharper than she had anticipated as she cut him off, "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

He turned finally, but his face was carefully composed, "Mel, you must see a healer. I've treated your wounds as best I can, but…"

"Did you get that jar from my bag?"

His blank face finally revealed confusion, "Yes, but I don't see how…"

"Then I'm fine." Mel said, "Eregwen told me that stuff would heal anything. Look."

She started to unravel the cloth from her hand. Boromir reached out to stop her, but she had already ripped it off, revealing fresh scars around her ring finger.

She held it up triumphantly, "See? I'm perfectly fine." But her words sounded hollow. The sight of her mutilated hand had reminded her of the dead part of her brain, the part that used to speak to the trees, the part that had made her feel like a part of something bigger. What was she now? Just a little nothing girl stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She felt something brush her finger. She looked up, but Boromir had already walked away.

He sighed, "Mel," he said. His voice sounded like the beginning of a patient lecture, "The ring is gone. Saruman has it. There's nothing we can do now."

"We don't have to do anything, but wait." Mel said, crossing her arms over her chest, "The Ents will come and when Saruman realizes he can't use the Yavannacor against them, we'll just force him to give it back."

"Ents?" Boromir said, raising a skeptical eyebrow, "Am I to believe that creatures of myth are just going to appear out of the forest and end Saruman's mad reign of terror in a single night?"

"Have I ever been wrong?" she asked, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I wouldn't know." He quipped, "Until now you've hidden everything from me."

That stung a little. The tiny smile fell off her face and she studied her hands clenched in her lap.

"I'm not leaving." She murmured.

Boromir sighed, "I'm sorry, Melody. That was cruel and unfair of me. I know why you couldn't tell me everything." She glanced up and he was clenching his fists. His jaw was tight, as if he were speaking through clenched teeth, "You were afraid of me. I don't blame you for it." He looked up at her, "But don't you understand? I am in a unique position to recognize what you are experiencing. Don't you see why I want to take you far away from this place?"

Finally, she did understand, "You think I'm addicted to power." The idea seemed ludicrous to her, but his eyes brightened when she said it.

"I believe that you crave something that the Yavannacor has to offer you. That is why you cannot let it go."

"You don't get it; it's not like that!" Mel struggled for words to explain how she felt, "The ring doesn't give any power to me; it only gives me the ability to give power to the trees, to use however they want. I give them something useful, the ability to help if they want, not just sit around and watch as the world around them gets burned to a cinder! They need me!" She realized that her hands were balled up into fists and she forced herself to relax, "And not having it, it's like not having a part of my mind working. It's all blank and dead. I feel completely cut off and small and helpless and lost in a world that has nothing to do with me."

She trailed off. She was afraid to meet Boromir's eyes. She realized how ridiculous she sounded. But he was right about one thing. If anyone was in a position to understand how she felt, it was him. She risked a peek at his face. He was smiling at her gently, a smile that she hadn't seen since Rivendell.

"Well," he murmured, "At least I know what it is you crave."

That surprised her, "Which is…?"

"Purpose." He said, "You still don't feel like you have a place here." He knelt by her side and took her hand. Then he put her palm on his chest. "Do you feel that, Melody?"

She did feel it. It was the steady drum of his heart. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

"That is because of you." He whispered, "I do not understand why or how, but I am alive because you exist, of that I am certain." She looked up and his eyes sparkled, "Is that not reason enough? You belong because I belong."

She opened her mouth with every intention of saying something nice, something cordial, something along the lines of '_Of course it is, Boromir, whatever you say, that's good enough for me, because I love you._' But instead she found herself struck with a severe case of honesty.

"But," she whispered, "You don't belong anymore. Because of me. You shouldn't even be here."

His eyes dimmed and she realized that had been the wrong thing to say. She struggled to find words to fix what she had done, but none came. He turned away and went back to gazing at Isengard. The light had faded to almost nothing.

"We will wait one more day." He said. The business like tone broke her heart, "Then, we will go to Edoras, even if I must drag you there."

The word 'drag' slammed her in the face. Instantly, she was floundering in images, swirling memories: being dragged by her hair, kicked over and over, that foul tasting liquid forced down her throat. It was all so vivid, she could feel everything. She felt like she might throw up. She tried to run her hands through her hair, something that should have been a self-comforting gesture. But she felt the tangles and the mats and the stickiness of the long strands and it reminded her of the nightmarish hell she had lived through. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.

"Boromir," she managed to choke out. He turned, instantly concerned, she could see it in his eyes. She held out a hand, the other holding back her hair, "Give me your knife."

He looked confused and cautious, but he didn't argue. Slowly, he drew the short blade from his belt and handed it to her, watching every move she made. She knew it would be sharp, which was good. She would need as clean a cut as she could get. She took the knife in one hand and gathered up all her hair in the other; fighting the urge to vomit as she was reminded of all the times that filthy orc had grabbed her by the hair.

"Melody, are you sure…"

Before Boromir could say another word, she sawed her way through the tangled mess, attacking it like an enemy. She gave no thought to convention or fashion or convenience. All she could think about was the way that nasty creature had thrown her around, tossed her like garbage, treated her like an object and ripped up her hair. Her long, beautiful hair. It felt like only seconds had passed when she looked down and realized that it was over. A brown matted mess lay in her hand. Leaves and dirt mingled with black orc filth. She ran her hand over the length of it and realized that there were spots of wetness. She reached up and touched her cheek. There was moisture there too. She was crying.

Slowly, Boromir reached out and took the knotted up strand of hair. Mel sighed and let him, curling up under the cloak and closing her eyes.

"Could you please get rid of that for me?" she whispered, "I don't care what you do with it, but I don't want to ever see it again."

She heard his boots scraping the stone for a moment and then it was silent for another few moments. She just lay curled there, too tired to move. Why did the life continue to get sucked out of her? She heard Boromir's boots scuff the rock again and he seemed to pause by where she lay. She didn't open her eyes to check. Then, she barely felt the tips of his fingers brush what was left of her hair.

"Why?" he whispered.

She had calmed down enough in his absence to no longer have a clear answer for him. Arguments and reasons that had seemed perfectly logical mere moments before in her anger and revulsion seemed petty and ridiculous to her now. So she gave him the only answer she could come up with that made sense.

"It got in my way."

Her eyes were still closed, but she could feel his hand brush her forehead, "You still have fever."

"I feel good." She murmured. She relaxed out of the fetal position as his cool fingers brushed her cheek. She was trying to tell her heart to stop fluttering, afraid he might hear. That would be embarrassing. If he took her pulse and heard the clamor her heart was making he would really think something was wrong with her!

He took away his hand and she heard him walk away. She pulled the cloak up to her nose and breathed in the scent of the fur. It still smelled fresh and clean like Rivendell. It was a comforting, calming smell. She smiled and opened her eyes. Stars twinkled overhead and she searched the sky for the familiar glow of Earendil. She finally found it and smiled. But then, something else in the sky caught her eye.

She gasped and shot up, "Orion?"

Boromir's reaction was instant. His sword flew out of his belt and he whirled around, his eyes scanning the night around them. She immediately felt sorry for saying anything. But the shock had been overwhelming. What was Orion doing in this sky?

"What did you see, Melody?" He said, his eyes still searching the darkness.

"Nothing," she stuttered, "It's nothing, never mind."

But her eyes were drawn upward again. There was the familiar constellation glaring down at her. It was undoubtedly the Hunter with his belt of stars. She wondered how she had missed him before. He was her most recognizable constellation, something she could always find back home. What was he doing here?

"What do you see?" She jumped. Boromir sat beside her, looking up as well, "You said Orion. Who is Orion?"

She hesitated. Then she reached out and took his hand, forcing herself not to tremble as she touched him. She pointed his fingers in the right direction, "You see those three stars there?" she asked.

"The belt of Menelvagor?" he asked.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, as if she'd read it somewhere, but she couldn't quite remember. She shrugged, "I guess. Where I come from we call it Orion's belt. He was supposed to be this great hunter. I think he was killed by a giant scorpion or something. There are so many versions though. I can't remember it exactly, but I could always find his constellation back home."

She sat back and Boromir did the same, still staring at the sky, "Menelvagor was a great warrior," he said, "The Great Swordsman of the Sky." He shook his head and smiled, "I do not remember the tale, but Faramir could probably tell you all the stories." His smile became sad and his eyes seemed to be looking somewhere far away, "That has always been to his liking, great stories of old hidden away in musty libraries with aging scrolls containing the names and legends of the stars." He sighed, "It is a shame that his intellect and knowledge is wasted on war."

"It's not wasted." Mel said, "It's being put to very good use even as we speak."

His eyes flicked toward her and then back to the sky, "I hope you are right."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Boromir. Not about family." She paused. Then she added, "Not about anything. Not anymore."

"And why is that?" he asked, finally turning his full attention toward her, "Why would you tell me nothing before, but now it seems so unimportant?"

She met his eyes and shrugged, "I guess I just figure we're kinda like two peas in the same pod now."

He tilted his head and his brow wrinkled in confusion, "You're analogies are very strange, Melody."

She sighed and smiled, "I mean, now that neither of us really belongs here, I guess it doesn't matter if you know what's coming or not because just by existing we're going to mess it all up anyway. So you might as well know what to expect. I would hate for you to be blindsided by something needlessly."

"Blindsided? By what?"

And just then, there was a horn call. Boromir leapt to his feet and Mel even started a little, even though she had been expecting it, if not tonight, then the next night, or the night after that. She had known they would come.

Boromir's sword was drawn and he faced Isengard. Mel smiled, "You're looking the wrong way."

He turned to her. She pulled her cloak around her and got to her feet. She was still bare-foot of course and she was careful to avoid the sharp edges of the stones as she scrambled over to the other side of their little haven in the mountain. She poked her head over the rocks and stared as hard as she could toward the trees, straining her eyes trying to distinguish anything in the dim light from the half moon and the stars. She heard Boromir shuffling behind her, but she didn't dare look up to see if he'd followed her or not. She didn't want to miss this, not for the world.

Then she thought she heard something. A hum, a rumble, something… Boromir's feet scuffed the rock again and she held up a hand, "Shhh!" She whispered, "Listen!"

He stopped fidgeting. There was a rumble, Mel could feel it in the earth. And then she heard a murmur, a murmur that was getting closer and more distinct with each passing moment. Finally, she could distinguish words, a chant, just barely above the whisper of the wind.

"_To Isengard!_ _Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone; _

_Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone; _

_We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door;_

_For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars- we go to war!_

_To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come!_

_With doom we come, with doom we come!_"

And then she saw it. It was only a shimmer of movement in the dark trees before her, a flutter, almost unrecognizable. Then it got larger. The chant started again, louder, closer, almost a roar. She could see the trees moving, swaying, making way for the unstoppable force that had awakened in Fangorn's depths.

Boromir gasped behind her, "Gods above, do my eyes deceive me? Or my ears turn the wind to war chants? What is that, Melody?"

Mel just smiled, "He shouldn't have pissed off the trees."

A/N: Alright, another chapter finished! And, (yes, I know) FINALLY we get some Ent action! Review and tell me what you all think!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Alright guys, I know it's been awhile, mostly because I didn't know quite how I was going to start this chapter so I procrastinated. Then I went to see my family in Oklahoma for a week and then, I procrastinated for a little longer. But now I'm back! Hopefully this chapter will not disappoint.

**Chapter 11**

Mel heard Boromir scuffling around behind her and she tore her eyes away from the army of Ents to see what he was doing. She was just in time to see him sheathe his sword. His shield was already on his back.

He glanced up at her. "I'm going down. Stay here."

"Oh hell no!" she yelled as she started scrambling down out of the rocks, "There is no way you're going down there and leaving me up here."

His back was already to her, "You'll be safe here, Melody. I'm only going for a moment."

"Safe my ass! Screw safe! You are not going without me!"

Boromir paused, giving Mel a chance to pick her way out of the rocks, being careful not to cut her feet. He sighed. "Melody, I can't put you in danger. I can't do that."

"You aren't putting me in danger. I'm putting me in danger."

He whirled around so fast that Mel stumbled back a step, "Do you think that by allowing you to go with me, my responsibility lessens? I saved your life, Melody! I would like to keep you alive long enough to get you home!"

Mel felt like she'd had the breath knocked out of her. And Boromir looked just as shocked by what he had said as she felt. She swallowed to dislodge the lump that was forming in her throat. "Home?" she whispered, "What home? Boromir, I can't go home. Is…" she almost couldn't force the words out. "Is that what you want? To send me home?"

The thought that he didn't want her with him was almost unbearable. It was unthinkable. It drew her back into the unpredictable world of the Fellowship, a world of uncertainty, never knowing for sure how he felt or what he thought, how much of his actions were his own and how many were controlled by the Ring. But in this new world, the Ring was gone. His actions were completely his. What did he mean when he said he wanted to get her home? What could he mean, except heart-wrenching separation? He wanted to take her someplace and leave her there, never to interfere with his life again. What else could he mean?

She felt tears building in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn't cry. If he didn't want her, she would have to live with that. She wouldn't force sympathy from him.

But Boromir's face had changed from shocked to horrified, desperate and sad. "Melody," he whispered, "I meant my home."

Her brow creased in confusion. Why would he leave her in Minas Tirith? Or maybe he just meant Gondor and he was going to drop her off in some small, out of the way village. That had to be it. He would leave her with some nice peasant family and then ride off into the sunset, never to be seen or heard from again. Quite a fairy tale ending, even if it was a little backwards.

He was still looking at her, his eyes sad. Did he feel bad for breaking the news to her this way? "Melody, I promised you I would show you Minas Tirith. I will keep my word to you. If I can keep you alive long enough to see it."

He would show her Minas Tirith. That had to mean that he would be with her, at least for a little while longer. She felt a weight lift off her chest and she gulped in a deep breath. She clung to those words and tried to make the words that preceded them vanish from her memory. She tried her best to change the subject, trying to get back to the matter at hand.

"I'm still going down there, with or without your permission."

His shoulders sagged and he smiled. "Are we to sit here bickering like children instead?"

But Mel had decided to start ignoring him. Instead she turned around and found the little bag that Eregwen had packed so well. She dug to the bottom and pulled out the pair of thin slippers that she had worn on her last day in the Golden Wood. They weren't much, but they were better than bare feet. She slipped them on and reached for her cloak.

Her hands had barely brushed the fabric when Boromir snatched it away. "You are not going!" he insisted, "You have no way of defending yourself."

"I'm not going down there to fight anyone!" she exclaimed grabbing the cloak and tugging at it. "I just want to be there!"

"For what?" Boromir cried, pulling back on the cloak, "What purpose will it serve? You're putting yourself in harm's way for nothing!"

"Those are my friends down there!" she screamed, "They need me!"

"Melody, you are no longer the Daughter of Yavanna!"

She froze, stunned. "The Daughter of Yavanna? Where did you hear that?"

The shock had loosened her grip on the cloak and Boromir pulled it from her hands, "It doesn't matter. The point is that I am not going to allow you to run headlong into a pit of destruction while I chase along behind you trying to keep you alive."

She glared at him, "What are you, my jailer? You can't tell me what I can and cannot do!"

"Melody…" But Boromir's argument was interrupted by the loud crack of rock. They both glanced down the mountain. The Ents had reached the walls of Isengard and were ripping them down with their long fingers, pulling the stones from the very earth they were embedded in.

Mel happened to glimpse Boromir's shocked face out of the corner of her eye and saw her chance. She snatched the cloak from his frozen fingers, threw it over her shoulders, and leaped over the edge of the rocks that sheltered them. She heard him cry out her name and the sound of him scrambling after her, but she ignored it. She skidded down the side of the mountain, leaping from rock to rock, trying desperately to keep her balance. If she could just make it to Isengard, if she could see Merry and Pippin, she could convince the Ents that she was the Calenhiril and they would demand the Yavannacor back from Saruman. Everything would be alright. She just had to find the hobbits.

She got to the bottom of the mountain and hit the ground running. She could still hear Boromir pursuing her. She pushed her legs to move faster. Once he was on flat ground, there was no way she could outrun him. She just had to hope that she could reach the shattered gates before he caught up with her. She had to find Merry and Pippin!

Her eyes stayed fixed on the broken walls in front of her, but her ears listened to Boromir's footfalls. He was catching up. She pushed herself harder. Her lungs were starting to burn, but the walls were right there. She was almost inside. She focused all her energy on one point, a clear path inside Isengard through the fallen stone and shattered wood. With one final lunge she burst through the ruined walls. She had made it. She was inside.

Then she skidded to a stop. Her eyes widened and she realized she had made a horrible mistake. A group of at least ten orcs turned toward her, blocking her way in. Their eyes lit up at the sight of her and their black forms started to lumber forward. She reached in her belt and pulled out the dagger that she had put there, Boromir's dagger, but she knew it was practically useless. She was outnumbered and exhausted from the chase down the mountain. She couldn't out run them and she couldn't fight them. She was dead before she even started.

Then a horn sounded a long, loud blast as clear as a deep bell that shook her to the core and made her pulse pound. It echoed off the mountains and swirled through Isengard like a wind. The orcs paused.

Then Boromir leapt past her and cut down three before they even had a chance to react. The rest had barely lifted their weapons before he was on top of them whirling through their midst, dodging and cutting, black blood spraying from fresh wounds. They were all dead in a matter of minutes. Mel stood and watched him, paralyzed with horror and awe. How could he be so fast?

When they all lay dead at his feet, he spun around and grabbed her arm, "Are you alright?" His eyes were hard as gray stones and his jaw was set like marble. Mel was afraid. Her vocal cords felt like they had been cut so she simply nodded.

Instantly, his face softened and his eyes seemed to melt, "Gods, Melody, you are such a stubborn woman." He glanced around and pulled her closer to him, "Come on. If you insist on being here, perhaps you could at least stay out of the middle of everything."

He started to lead her around the inner wall. Mel pulled her cloak tighter and tried to make herself seem as small as possible. But at the same time she couldn't help but peer at every Ent they crept past, searching it's branches for any sign of Merry and Pippin. But even in the glow from the fires the orcs had built to protect themselves, she couldn't tell real from shadow. And Boromir moved too quickly for a second look.

Then, Mel heard a cry, deep and creaking, like wood rubbing on wood. Her head shot up and she searched the hellish blazes. She felt Boromir tug her arm, but she ignored him. Then she saw it. An Ent, tied with ropes, struggling against his orc captors. The sight made her blood boil and her heart race.

"Melody, we can't help him!" Boromir said, pulling at her arm again, "There are too many of them."

She whirled on him, her eyes flashing, "You don't even want to try!"

She hadn't meant to sound so accusing. After all what could they do? But the ropes around the Ent's limbs and his pleading cries made her uncontrollably angry. She felt tightness in her chest and a pounding in her head. She turned back to the struggling creature and watched helplessly as the orcs pulled him down. As the impact of his fall rumbled through the earth beneath her feet, she felt something inside her throb.

--

As Saruman leaned over his balcony, watching as the Ent captured by his orcs struggled uselessly, he grinned to himself. The Ents were incapable of overcoming his power, even with most of his army out to war. He was an unstoppable force. But as the Ent crashed down and the earth vibrated with the blow, he felt a pulse of raw power ripple from his pocket. The force made his bones shudder and his heart skip a beat. The ring. The Yavannacor! He pulled it out of his robe. The emerald was glowing. As he peered more closely, he felt the metal start to warm. Before he could blink the gold was glowing red with heat that seared his fingers. The pain startled him and he dropped the ring. It hit the rail of the balcony and tumbled into the blackness below.

"Useless anyway." The wizard mumbled. But he couldn't help feeling a twinge of uneasiness.

--

Something glittered. Mel almost didn't see it. But she felt it. Something had glittered off the balcony of Orthanc. Something had fallen.

"Yavannacor," she whispered.

She wrenched her arm free of Boromir and rushed toward the tower, "Yavannacor!" she cried.

"Melody, wait!" Boromir yelled, chasing after her, "Foolish woman, what are you doing?"

But Mel barely heard him. She felt the pressure in her chest throb again and she knew. It was the Yavannacor. It was calling her. It was waiting. Somewhere in the blackness at the base of the tower, the Yavannacor waited for her. She ran forward, brushing past orcs, barely noticing them, dodging huge moving tree trunks that threatened to crush her underfoot, her eyes locked on the spot directly below the tower balcony.

_Yavannacor…_

--

Pippin cheered as Treebeard tossed a boulder as big as a wagon, flattening the orcs that had tied down the other Ent, "Did you see that, Merry?" he cried.

But suddenly, Pippin's eyes were drawn elsewhere. Something looked familiar about that small figure racing across the open ground of Isengard. In the dim light from the fires, he could see that its cloak was green with glints of gold and it looked nothing like an orc. And someone was chasing it.

"Melody, wait!"

Pippin's eyes widened. Could it be? "Merry!" he cried, "Merry!"

"What, Pip?" Merry's arm was in the air, rock poised to throw.

"Merry, it's Mel!"

"Have you lost your marbles? You're seeing things!" Merry said, reluctantly looking in the direction his cousin was pointing. That cloak sure did look familiar though.

"It's her, Merry! I heard her name!" Pippin exclaimed excitedly, "And I think Boromir is following her!"

_Boromir?_ Now Merry knew Pip had lost his marbles. All the excitement had gone to his head, "Pip, even if it were Mel, she would be running away from Isengard, not toward it!"

"Mel, look out!" Pip cried. Before Merry could stop him, he had taken a rock and lobbed it at an orc that had tried to stab the running figure in the back. He hit it square between the eyes and the orc hit the ground.

"Pip, what are you doing?" Merry cried, "We don't know that's Mel!"

"It's Mel! I saw her face! It is her!" Pippin took another rock and threw it, knocking another pursuing orc on his back, "Merry, trust me! They're gonna kill her!"

Merry glanced down. That was Mel's cloak. He could see it from here. And that wasn't an orc darting between the trunk-like legs of the Ents. And he trusted Pippin. Merry got a better grip on the rock he held and hurled it at the head of another orc that had turned to pursue Mel.

--

Boromir flew after Melody, cursing under his breath. What had possessed her this time? Did she think she was just going to storm up the steps of Orthanc and demand that her damned ring be returned to her? That had been the last word she had uttered. Yavannacor. Surely she had not lost all her wits! He followed her, dodging the orcs and trees. But one orc did not ignore her passing as the others did. He turned, weapon drawn and Boromir felt his heart stop. He would not reach her in time. The orc had her, aiming for her back. Boromir was going to be forced to watch her die.

Suddenly, a rock flew out of nowhere and clanged into the orc's helmet. He dropped where he stood. Boromir ran by, still following Melody, but now he was wary. Rocks did not just drop from the sky with such precision. But as he watched, another orc turned to pursue her and he too was knocked on his back by a rock to the head. Boromir's eyes glanced skyward. Were the gods protecting her? After all he had seen, not much seemed impossible to him anymore. Another pursuing orc was felled by a rock and dropped across his path. Boromir nimbly leaped over the obstacle, but his eyes had finally glimpsed where the aid was coming from. High in the branches of one of the walking trees sat two tiny forms, too small to be anymore than human children. Was it…? Could it be…?

But he had no time to ponder the little figures in the treetops. He turned his eyes back to the path and felt a wave of overwhelming panic wash over him. Melody had disappeared. He shot forward, his eyes frantically searching for a glimpse of her green cloak. He was so busy searching for her that he almost tripped over her. He skidded to a stop. She was on her knees in the dirt, crawling around on all fours, muttering to herself.

"I know it's here, I know it, I FELT it! Where is it? Where?"

He reached out and gently touched her shoulder, "Melody…"

She jumped and scrambled away from him, "NO!" she glared at him, "It's here; I SAW it! Stay away!"

He didn't move, wary of this new Melody, fierce and coiled like a wild cat. He had only seen this one other time and he had almost erased it from his memory, sure that it was caused by fever and delirium. But her eyes were the same as the night he had rescued her.

_What kind of a weakling did I risk my life for anyway?! I almost died because of you! And you won't even TRY to do this for me! You're disgusting! Why didn't you just stay dead?!_

He could feel the hurt that her words had caused him welling up inside of him as fresh as if she had just spoken them aloud. Could it be that she truly felt that way? Was it possible? She scrambled to her feet and skittered away, eyes on the ground, still searching and mumbling to herself. Boromir watched her and felt a pain in his chest, even deeper than the pain he'd felt at her words. He couldn't let her continue on like this. He had to do something!

But just as he took a step to act on his decision, Melody paused. He paused with her, watching, wondering what she was doing now, what she was thinking. Then she leaped forward and Boromir was right behind her, determined to stop her this time. He would not let this horror continue. But just as his hand brushed the hem of her cloak she bent into the dirt and snatched something up, nimbly dancing away from his fingers. Then she turned to him, her face glowing.

"I told you it was here."

Between her thumb and forefinger was a gold ring. It was covered in grime, but Boromir could still tell that she was right. It was the Yavannacor.

He held out a hand, "Melody, wait…"

But she took a deep breath and jammed the ring on her scarred finger.

--

A/N: Wow, that was a pretty long one for you guys anyway! J Thanks for sticking around, hope you enjoy! Next chapter will hopefully be out soon!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry, this took so long to get up guys, I've been really busy. But I made this one really long for you so I hope that helps! Enjoy! BTW over 100 reviews!!! Thanks so much to all of you!

**Chapter 12**

At first she felt nothing. Panic started to well up inside her.

_What's wrong? Why isn't it working?_

But then there was another pulse of power. It trembled through her body with the force of a jackhammer and she gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. Then there was a white explosion in her head. Everything in the world around her faded away and she was bathed in brightness. She grabbed her head and tried to scream, but her voice was nothing in this white void. Then there was a deep, familiar voice, a woman's voice.

_**"At last. At last, my child. You've returned."**_

The light vanished and was replaced by total darkness. And in the darkness there were voices, thousands of them all crying out her name.

_"Calenhiril! Calenhiril! Calenhiril!"_

The voices of the trees were calling. She felt a rush of relief and joy even as the noise of their calling made her head start to ache. The trees were calling for her. And she could answer them.

She slowly realized that darkness surrounded her only because her eyes were closed. She was doubled over as if she were in pain. And she could hear a voice from the outside, someone calling out her other name.

"Melody! Melody, are you alright?"

But the voice of the outsider was faint. She could barely hear him with the rest of them yelling in her head. She had to stop that. Slowly, she stood up straight. She felt something familiar building in her chest, a power she had felt before, a power she hadn't been aware she had, power that she couldn't understand. It was an authority, something that had been forced upon her, but that she had at her disposal. Something she had the power to use.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her voice came out a whisper, but it echoed through her mind and she felt the power in her chest pulse and ripple out of her into the darkness and out toward the glimmering dawn on the horizon. She spoke only three words.

**"I am here."**

Instantly the trees fell silent. Everything in the courtyard paused and the world seemed to stop turning for one tiny second. Then she turned her head and saw Boromir. He was only a few paces away, his hand reaching out to her. But it was his face that concerned her. Something was there that she had not seen before, not when he was looking at her. It was fear. Was he afraid of her?

Suddenly, her mind blacked out and all she saw was his face. And that deep, familiar voice seemed to whisper out of the darkness, _**"A life for a life."**_

Then everything started moving again. But it was as if it was all in fast forward, like the world was trying to catch up with itself. She heard a shriek from the tower, right above her head. She looked up, but it was so dark she couldn't see. And right at that moment, Boromir grabbed her around the waist and pulled her aside. But she almost didn't notice any of this, because the trees had started talking again. She could hear them. Some whispered, some shouted, some were speaking normally. She hadn't realized how far her mind's ear could hear. But just the sound of their voices was enough to make her so happy she felt like her heart might burst.

"Melody?" Boromir's concerned voice brought her back to Isengard. She looked up and his face was no longer afraid. Instead he looked worried, "Melody, are you hurt?"

She gently took his face in her hands. The touch reminded her that she was in the presence of a miracle. He was warm and alive and real. She felt like she was soaring, "I'm perfect. Everything's perfect." And when his eyes seemed to melt at her words, she could have kissed him.

But suddenly there was a scream of pain. An Ent cry. She whipped around and searched for the source. She bent her mind to the voices, trying to distinguish one from the other. But something was odd. None of these voices sounded like Ents. None were talking about Isengard. Something was wrong. Why couldn't she hear the Ents' thoughts? The Ent cried out again and Mel turned toward the sound, frantically searching. But she felt like she was flying blind. Why couldn't she HEAR him?!

"Melody!" Boromir cried, "Over there!"

She turned where he was pointing and finally she saw him. And once she had she wondered how she had missed him. He looked like a giant beech tree swaying about. And he was on fire. Orcs surrounded him with burning arrows and shot at him mercilessly, piercing his bark. He stomped on them viciously, but the damage was done. Flames licked at his branches. Mel could feel her blood run cold.

"Break the dam!" she screamed. But it seemed to take so long for her to say it. Her mouth still seemed to be moving, long after the words should have left her lips. And the way her lips formed the words, it felt so odd. What was happening?

But she had no time to think about it anymore. Because she suddenly realized exactly what kind of a position the breaking of the dam would put her in. And the position it would put Boromir in as well. They were on the ground. If the water was released they would drown! She turned back to Boromir.

"We need to get higher!" she yelled. She spun in a circle looking for anywhere that they could go to escape the terrible flood. And that was when she heard two tiny voices that almost brought tears to her eyes.

"Mel! Mel, up here!"

"Treebeard, there she is! Mel!"

"Get closer, she can't see us! Mel, we're up here!"

Slowly, she turned around and looked up. Pippin was waving his arms wildly at her, a huge grin on his face, while Merry pointed and directed the huge Ent that carried them. It had to be Treebeard. Mel was suddenly certain that she had to be dreaming.

Treebeard lumbered toward her, stomping on a few scattered orcs that happened to be in his path. Mel felt her breath catch in her throat. He was much more majestic than she had thought he would be. Huge though he was, he had a certain grace and patience in his movements that belied his size. And his huge eyes were expressive and bottomless, even now when Mel knew he was angrier than he had ever been. She felt the urge to kneel in the presence of such power and wisdom beyond her comprehension, but she couldn't make her legs work. She was trembling. She felt Boromir come stand behind her and she leaned back into him to steady herself. He put his hands gently at her elbows.

Finally, Treebeard came to a stop in front of her. Then he bent at the waist. Mel was shocked. He was bowing!

"Calenhiril has come at last." He rumbled, "The tales prove true. Welcome, little sister."

Mel's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. She was paralyzed by shock. Little sister? Could he possibly be talking about her?

Finally, she was able to produce sound, "Treebeard…" she whispered. But, again, the word seemed to take much longer for her to say than it should have. She touched her lips, bewildered. What was happening?

But her confusion was cut short by the piercing cry of the beech-like Ent. The fire was spreading through his limbs, though he valiantly tried to put himself out.

Treebeard straightened, looking around as if assessing the situation, and then called out with a voice like a roll of thunder, "Bregalad!"

Instantly, a tall, spindly Ent looked up and started to run across the expanse of Isengard toward them. It took Mel's breath away. She had never seen a rowan tree before, but now she knew what one looked like. Because this was Quickbeam, the Rowan Ent. It took him only a few paces to reach them and he skidded to a halt, sending dirt and rocks flying into the air.

Treebeard harrumphed, "True to your name, as always. Come, you must take up Calenhiril and her companion before we wash away the wizard's evil."

"With the greatest of pleasure!" Quickbeam exclaimed. He turned to Mel, who was still getting used to the idea that this was Quickbeam in front of her, and held out one silvery green hand, "Come, little sister, you'll be safe with me!"

Treebeard was already taking giant steps toward the dam on the far side of Isengard. Mel didn't see how they had much choice. She took Boromir's hand, "Come on!"

Together they rushed into the hand of the Rowan Ent and scrambled up his spindly arm, Boromir climbing to the right and Mel to the left, until they were both on Quickbeam's shoulders.

Treebeard's voice boomed out, "Break the dam! Release the river!"

"Hold on!" Mel yelled, grabbing onto all of the branches that she could and bracing herself against Quickbeam's trunk. She heard loud pops and resounding cracks, and then the roar of rushing water. She turned toward the wall of frothing water as it surged toward them.

_Please let us be high enough._ She thought. Seconds later the river was rushing under her, soaking her through with the spray as it struck the trunk of the Ent that held fast beneath her. She saw steam burst from under the earth like geysers as the forge fires were doused. Then, she glanced up. Saruman stood on his balcony, his face twisted in fear and rage as he surveyed the destruction of his stronghold, destruction brought on by the trees he had sought to control through her.

As if he could sense the direction of her thoughts, his crazed eyes found hers. There was no surprise. He had known. She remembered the shriek she had heard when she had recovered the Yavannacor. It had been the wizard's cry of madness. He had known she was there. Now his lips curled into a feral snarl. But he couldn't harm her. His power was not so great now. She could sense his despair, the defeat that they both knew was coming. And it thrilled her. Every cell of her body seemed to vibrate with joy as she watched the man who had become her greatest enemy stand on his balcony and growl at her like a German Shepherd who, having reached the end of his chain, realized that he was just short of his prey. A smile twitched on her lips.

Finally, as if he could stand it no longer, he whirled and fled into the darkness of his tower, slamming the doors behind him. And as if sensing that the dark forces had been safely contained, the sun peeked over the horizon, flooding the courtyards of Isengard with light that sparkled in the muddied waters of the Entwash as it filled the holes in the earth and washed away the filth of Saruman's evil plots.

And at the same time, Mel felt her anger and her hate and even her fear wash away with it. She took a deep breath and could smell the freshness of the green leaves that surrounded her and it cleared her whole being of bitterness. Even the joy she had felt at Saruman's helplessness seemed petty, a waste of energy. And as these things flowed out of her, she was left only with exhaustion. All of her small reserve of strength had been used up. She sagged back into the branches of the Ent as the adrenaline that had kept her going started to dissipate. She felt her eyelids start to droop and she forced herself to stay alert.

"Melody?" She looked over. Boromir was watching her closely, "Are you alright?"

She almost asked him the same question. He looked as tired as she felt. How long had it been since he'd slept?

"I'm just tired." She said. Her voice was hoarse and cracked. She must have screamed at some point, really screamed, but she couldn't remember. Her head was cloudy.

Quickbeam rumbled beneath her, "Harum, when the waters recede I will put you in a safe place to rest, little sister."

Her fuzzy mind registered the words and recognized that they had been used before. Little sister…

"Why do you…?" she started to ask. But the words felt odd. She knew what she was saying. She could picture the words. She understood how they should be pronounced. But what came out of her mouth did not sound anything like what she had intended. It was guttural and rough. It took entirely too long to leave her lips and it was completely unfamiliar. Some of the sounds that came out didn't even sound human. More like… more like wood rubbing on wood. Her exhausted brain tried to piece together all the clues, but what was there was cloudy and fully impossible.

"Your questions will be answered soon, Calenhiril." Quickbeam said, "First, you must rest."

All she did was nod, afraid of what might come out if she opened her mouth again. She looked at Boromir again. He was staring at her with a mix of confusion and concern on his face. He probably thought she was crazy, babbling on with those weird noises. As a matter of fact, that thought was not out of the realm of possibility. But she was too tired to be worried about it. She watched the water line lower as the pent up water that was left behind the ruined dam slowed to a trickle.

Then she heard small voices calling out, "Mel! Boromir! Mel!"

She dragged her mind away from the hypnotic flow of the river and searched for the little voices. Merry and Pippin were almost falling out of Treebeard's branches they were waving so enthusiastically. She smiled and waved back to let them know she heard them. Both of the Ents had started sloshing toward the broken gates where the water had almost come to a standstill.

Quickbeam reached up and took her around the waist, gently lowering her onto a large piece of rock wall, doing the same for Boromir, who looked very uncomfortable with the idea. But no sooner were Mel's feet on solid ground, she was almost knocked over. The hobbits both grabbed her around the waist and held on tight, both babbling so fast that she couldn't understand a word either was saying. But she felt an overwhelming sense of relief that brought tears to her eyes. They were here. They were safe. And she had lived to see them again. She dropped to her knees and just held them tight. She knew that her overreacting emotions and teariness were a direct result of how tired she was, but she didn't care. She just wanted hold them and listen to their excited voices tell her all about everything that she already knew.

Finally, Pippin realized that she was crying, "What's wrong?" he asked, pulling back to look her in the eye. She noticed that he was actually tall enough to have to look down at her, "Mel, are you hurt?"

She laughed and wiped her eyes. Merry was scrutinizing her too, searching for the source of her tears, "No guys," she sniffed, "No, I'm just so glad to see you."

"Well, we were about worried sick!" Merry said, "How did you get away from that huge orc?"

Mel felt her stomach turn. They didn't have any idea what she had been through. They thought she had escaped the Uruk-Hai. They didn't know that she had been brought to Saruman.

"And what happened to your hair?" Pippin asked, "I almost didn't recognize you."

Snippets of her capture fluttered through her mind, memories of terrors she didn't think she could relive.

"So, how did you get away, Mel?" Merry asked, his face eager for a romping good tale of escape.

And she had escaped. She had escaped, but not on her own power. A face, she remembered a face in the dark. Boromir's face, flickering above her in faint torchlight. And she heard her voice, yelling words with a loathing she didn't think was in her.

_"What kind of a weakling did I risk my life for anyway?! I almost died because of you! You're disgusting! Why didn't you just stay dead?!"_

It was a memory that she didn't really remember. It was like watching someone else's memories, listening to someone else's hate-filled voice yell the sickening words that filled her entire being with horror. It couldn't be real! But it was her voice. It was her memory.

"Let her breathe, Halflings." Boromir's deep voice commanded gently, "She will answer your questions when she's ready."

Slowly, fearing the worst now that she knew what she had done, she lifted her eyes to meet his. But all she saw was a tired kindness. How was that possible? How could he not loathe the very sight of her? She had said such horrible things! She watched him as the hobbits surrounded him and began to chatter excitedly. She tried to catch any sign of anger or resentment, things that he surely had to feel. But she saw nothing. Maybe she had made it all up in her head. Maybe she hadn't really said anything. Maybe it hadn't really happened.

"Calenhiril," reluctantly she turned to Treebeard, "We will leave you and your companions to rest here. You need not fear. We will keep watch over you. All of you should rest while you can."

She nodded and smiled, "Thank you." She said. But, once again it took several moments to say whatever it was that her mouth decided should come out. But she was so tired…

She saw the edges of Treebeard's mouth turn upward in a smile, "I will answer all of your many questions when you wake." Then he turned and splashed away, followed by Quickbeam.

Merry and Pippin were both staring at her. Finally, Merry whispered, "Mel? Was that… Was that Entish?"

Entish? Was that what it was? She supposed that made sense. But why now? Why here? And why couldn't she control it? There were too many questions and she felt very lightheaded. She closed her eyes and before she knew it, she could feel cold stone on her cheek. She was lying down. She was quickly falling into unconsciousness. Then two strong arms scooped her up. She struggled against the blackness and managed to open her eyes. Boromir had her, carrying her to the far side of the gate rubble. She watched his face for any sign of irritation. There was none there. He gently set her down. It was then that he noticed that she was staring at him.

"What is it?" he asked, "Why do you look so frightened?"

Mel decided this was one question that couldn't wait for her to wake up, "When you came to get me, did I," she struggled for words that didn't make her sound like a crazy person, "Did I say anything?"

She didn't even need him to answer. His face darkened, he turned away and she knew. Every bit of her memory was true.

She closed her eyes and a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, "Oh God…" she whispered, "God, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it!" She opened her eyes expecting to see the anger, the mistrust, the resentment. But Boromir surprised her. He was smiling.

"I believe you." He said, "Some things take over you and you can't control the effects. You were upset, and you were sick. You didn't know what you were saying."

"Why are you being so nice after everything I said to you?" she whispered, "You should hate me."

Once again, Boromir surprised her. He pulled her cloak off her shoulders and tucked it around her, "Melody," he whispered, "You should hate me. The things that I've said to you in anger and madness were despicable at best. But you have never left my side, despite my best efforts to discourage you and leave you behind." He put a hand on her forehead, "How could I not do the same for you? What kind of man would I be if I could not show you the same compassion?" He smoothed back her hair and his fingertips came to rest on her cheek, "I will never hate you. I do not believe that I have the ability." Mel sighed and closed her eyes, "Your fever is back." He murmured.

"M'fine." She muttered, "You look tired."

"I will sleep when you are well."

That wouldn't work, "No." she said, fighting to stay focused, "You need to sleep. I'm alright."

"Melody, go to sleep, you're exhausted."

"Not unless you do." She said, her eyes struggling open, "You've slept less than I have."

"I am accustomed to it."

"Bullshit." She said, earning an inquisitive raised eyebrow, "That's not true and you know it." She clarified, "I'm not sleeping 'til you do." To emphasize her point, she started to sit up.

"Melody, you're going to make yourself ill. Lay down." He put a hand on her shoulder and she collapsed, but she crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Fine, but you can't make me sleep."

He looked like he might argue. But instead he just sighed, "You are so stubborn."

"Only when I have to be."

He smiled. A mask of strength seemed to fall off his face and behind it the exhaustion was staggering. He looked ready to collapse. And he was this tired because of her. She was the reason for this. Her heart ached.

"Please lay down." She whispered, "We're safe here." She reached out and took his hand, "Please."

He closed his eyes and nodded. He lay down a few feet from her. She turned on her side and watched him, waiting for his breathing to even out and deepen, for his face to relax. She waited until she knew he was asleep, watching him. Then, she leaned in and whispered a confession that she knew he would never here

"I never left you because I love you."

--

He had not meant to sleep. He had only meant to close his eyes until Melody drifted off. But when Boromir lay down he could feel unconsciousness overtake him with a speed that was astonishing. He was asleep before he could stop himself. And in the darkness of his dreams, the beautiful face that was not a face, the mask of the goddess Yavanna appeared. She smiled and in his mind he heard the whisper like falling leaves.

_**"Well done, Son of Gondor. You have saved the life of my daughter. In return, I will do what I can to save you."**_


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Alright guys, I'm back! And hopefully, you'll get a few answers to some long asked questions in this chapter. Thanks for your support and encouragement!

**Chapter 13**

Slowly, Mel opened her eyes. It was dark out. When she had lain down the sun had just been rising over the hills. How long had they slept? She blinked and waited for her eyes to adjust, waited for Boromir's form to take shape beside her. But it never did. She reached out and all she touched was empty air. She felt a knot of panic in her throat and she quickly fought it down. He wouldn't leave her. Not now. Would he?

"Harum hum."

She flinched and sat up. Treebeard was on the other side of the broken gate, looking at her.

"Your companion has gone into the mountains to retrieve your belongings. He will be back shortly."

Mel felt the knot in her throat melt away and she sighed. Then she yawned and stretched, wrapped her cloak around her and crawled to the edge of the crumbled gate so she could sit directly in front of the Ent.

"Well," she started to say, but all that came out was the same garbled nonsense that seemed to always spew from her mouth when she spoke to the Ents. She snapped her mouth shut. Merry's words echoed in her mind.

_"Mel? Was that…Was that Entish?"_

Treebeard smiled down at her, "You have many questions. And you have been very patient for a daughter of man. I think perhaps you deserve to ask your questions uninhibited. I will answer what must undoubtedly be your first question and perhaps it will help you ask your other questions. The language that you speak is Old Entish, as I'm sure your little hobbit friends have told you. As the Calenhiril that knowledge is a part of you. It was necessary many, many years ago when all the Ents could speak was Old Entish. Now, of course, we have learned to translate our thoughts into the hasty languages of many peoples. But I'm afraid when you speak with us, if you wish to use your own language, you will have to translate your thoughts as we do."

_It's like learning English all over again!_ Mel thought. She thought hard about what she wanted to say and the best and quickest way to say it. All she could form was one word.

"Why?"

In that single word, she hoped that Treebeard could hear all of her frustration, all of her questions. Maybe she was finally in the presence of someone who could truly understand and explain everything.

He smiled, "That is a very large question, little sister. But I will tell you all that I know. Do you know the origins of the Yavannacor?"

She concentrated and spit out as few words as possible. "Made by dwarves in honor of Yavanna for a queen." The words felt funny coming out of her mouth, but they at least sounded like something she recognized.

"Yes, of course. But the dwarves did not make it of their own will. It was Yavanna's wish that her children, the trees of the world, have a champion in the world of the free folk, someone who could hear their pleas and give them the strength to fight their own battles should the time ever come. It was to be a sort of counterpart to the shepherds of the forests, a person who lived in both the world of the two legged and the world of the trees. That is the purpose of the Yavannacor and that is the purpose of the Calenhiril, to do the bidding of Yavanna and to act as an ambassador for her other children. Once the Yavannacor chooses its companion, the Calenhiril is forever marked as the Daughter of Yavanna and she is the most revered of all the old Ent legends. I, myself have only met one other, the Dwarf queen of whom you spoke and that was many centuries ago. The Dwarves feared the power that the Yavannacor gave to the trees and so after the queen's death they tried to hide it away. But it seems that Mother Yavanna had other plans for it."

Mel tried to let all this information sink in. When she had put on the ring, what felt like a lifetime ago, something had happened to her. Her mind had been irrevocably altered. She had known this. In many ways, she had always known it, but it had become perfectly clear once the Yavannacor was ripped away from her. She was no longer the same person. She could speak to the trees. She could speak to the trees in their own language! Entish, Old Entish, a language that no other creature should be able to speak. But she could. Because she was a bridge. She connected the living trees to the humans and free peoples that coexisted with them. She lived in both worlds. The responsibility was staggering.

"But," she choked out, her words still strange and blocky feeling, "Why me? Why now?"

"We might never know the mind of Yavanna, Calenhiril." Treebeard replied, "We cannot be hasty in demanding the answers that our mother has not chosen to give to us. But know that she chooses her children very carefully. You were not made without purpose. It will be revealed to you in the time that is deemed the best in her eyes."

Rivendell flashed in her mind. _Someday, _she thought, _If I survive all of this, I have to get back there. That's where the answers are. That's why she brought me here._

Treebeard stirred and looked out toward the mountains, "Hoom hum, your companion returns swiftly."

Mel turned and tried to look out into the night. But she couldn't see anything. "You must have better eyes than me, Treebeard." She said. But she forgot to translate and it all tumbled out in Entish. By the time she got done saying what she had intended to say, she could see movement across the plain, a running form in the darkness.

"Do you see now, little sister?"

She smiled and stood, "Yes," she said carefully, "I see him." She looked up again, "Treebeard? Where are the hobbits?"

A deep rumbling sounded from his chest and it took a few moments for Mel to realize that he was chuckling, "The little hobbits have endured much for creatures of their size. They finally succumbed to exhaustion before sundown. They lay there." One spindly branchlike finger pointed to a little nook in the rubble. Mel could just make out two little figures curled up in the cranny. She smiled.

Boromir nimbly leapt over the rubble in the gateway and came forward. Mel turned her eyes to him and smiled even wider. Despite Treebeard's reassurances, there had been a small part of her that had been afraid he had snuck away.

"Thought you ran off on me." she said, only half-joking, but trying not to sound too serious. It seemed like a stupid fear now.

Boromir glanced at her, and then up at Treebeard, "I left a message for you." He said.

"Humph harum and I delivered it, Son of Gondor." Treebeard replied, looking a little miffed, "I told her you had gone into the mountains."

"He did." Mel added quickly. It was silly, but she didn't want Boromir mad at the Ent, "I was just kidding."

Boromir nodded and then handed her pack to her, "All your things are inside."

Mel took it and smiled. Her mind flashed images of Lothlorien as she opened the bag. She could smell the herbs of the salve that Eregwen had given her. She could feel the weave of the well made Elven pack. She saw Eregwen's sad eyes. _Promises are easily broken. Be safe and I shall be content with that._

"Melody?" Boromir's voice snapped her back to reality. She looked up. Boromir's eyes were concerned, "Are you alright?"

She smiled, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking, that's all." She tugged the strings of the bag tight and pulled it onto her shoulders, "So, what are we gonna do now?"

Boromir raised an eyebrow, but he answered her without a moment's hesitation, "I must go to Gondor. My people need me."

"Well, that's all fine and good, but if we try to get there on foot, we'll never make it before the siege."

"Siege?" he asked. It took a minute for Mel to realize her mistake. Of course Boromir didn't know about the Siege of Minas Tirith!

"Minas Tirith falls under siege on the 14th of March." She said, "I don't know what day it is, but I do know that from this point on everyone is riding around on horseback. Which means that we're gonna need a way to keep up."

"There will be horses in Edoras." He suggested.

"Great, but how long will it take us to get there?"

"On horseback no longer than four days, three if the horse is steadfast and the rider tireless."

"Once again, that's all fine and good, but as you can see," Mel waved a hand around them, "We don't have any horses. So, what kind of time are we talking about here?"

Boromir's eyes got distant. She could see him doing the calculations in his head. And she could also see that the calculations were not looking optimistic, "I'm afraid that it would be too long."

Mel huffed, "Well there's got to be…" she trailed off. Her eyes had landed on Treebeard, who was watching them as if he were barely interested in the conversation. She concentrated and translated herself, "Treebeard? May I ask you something?"

"Of course, Calenhiril." He answered.

"If I were to ask you for a really big favor, something that could mean the whole world to me, would you try and see if you could do it?"

"Well, now, Calenhiril, let's not be hasty." He rumbled, "First comes the favor, and then the granting. What would you ask of me?"

"Well," Her eyes flicked to Boromir, who was watching her with confusion, "I was wondering if we could borrow Quickbeam."

"Harum hoom, I'm sure he would be at your disposal, but I'm afraid you would have to ask him. For what do you need his assistance?"

"I was wondering if he would mind carrying us to Edoras."

Treebeard's face became suddenly very grave, "I don't think you know what you are asking, Calenhiril."

"I know, it's away from the tower here and the forest. But it's the only way we'll make it to Minas Tirith in time. And to Quickbeam the trip would probably be nothing, just a quick stroll in the hills!"

"It is a long way for one so young to go alone. This seems like a very hasty decision."

"Then it's the perfect one for him to make. He's famous for being hasty." Mel pushed, "May I please ask him?"

Treebeard rumbled to himself for a few more moments. "Alright, little sister, but I will come with you." Treebeard held out a hand to her, "I will take you to him."

She smiled, "Great!" She clambered on, then she turned back to Boromir who just stood there, with his mouth a little agape and his eyes wide, "I'll be right back!"

Treebeard sloshed off across the dark expanse of Isengard. Mel clung to his branches and tried to survey the damage through the night. She could see the forms of Ents wading in the waters of the Isen, but she could see little else. Then, on her right she thought she saw what looked like a giant fallen log. She squinted and suddenly she saw it move! It twisted a bit and she thought she heard a rumble.

"Treebeard!" she exclaimed, being careful to translate her words, "Is that the Ent that was burned?"

"Hum hum harum, yes, I'm afraid so, Calenhiril. His name is Beechbone. His injuries are severe. I am not sure if he will survive the night."

It wasn't right. She couldn't let it happen. "Take me to him."

"Calenhiril, I'm not sure there is anything you can do."

But Mel didn't waver. "I've got to try. There's got to be something I can do."

After only a moment's hesitation, Treebeard turned and made his way over to the fallen Ent. As they got closer, Mel could better see the tree. Many of his branches were broken and charred. His bark had black gashes where flaming arrows had pierced him. In many places, Mel could see where he had been burned almost all the way through. Treebeard was right. He would never heal on his own. She crawled down and carefully slipped into the murky water surrounding the beech-like Ent.

"Beechbone?" She whispered. She reached out and put a hand on his smooth bark, "Beechbone, can you hear me?"

There was a rumble from the trunk and then she saw soft gray eyes slowly open and peer at her, "Calenhiril," he rasped, "What an honor to see you, little sister, even now as I lay dying."

"Don't be hasty, Beechbone." She chided gently, "Its very unEntish. I am here to help you."

"I don't know that I can be helped." He continued, "I am an old tree and my injuries are grievous. I am no fool."

"Be still and let me try." She whispered. Then she placed both hands on his trunk and closed her eyes. She remembered the tree by the waters of the Watcher's lake. She tried to feel out the injuries on the Ent. There were many spots that shone behind her eyelids. Many were small, just tiny pinpricks of light. But some flared with the intensity of white fireworks that refused to die. Those were the spots that she concentrated on. She reached out with her energy and brushed one. It burned white-hot. She hissed and backed off. But the place where she had touched was darker. She reached out again, this time with all her might, covering as much of the Ent's body as she could with her own cooling energy. She could feel the pain of the burns wash over her skin and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. But she held on as tightly as she could. And slowly the burning started to fade away. The power that she had used started to fade from Beechbone's body as her mind's eye saw it and it left a clean slate in its wake. No signs of the white-hot burns existed. Slowly, she began pulling her energy back into herself. Finally, she released the bark of the Ent and staggered away, slumping into the water and falling into oblivion.

Her unconsciousness lasted for only a few moments. She felt herself fighting back toward the surface of her mind and she quickly woke to find herself cradled in the hand of Treebeard. He was murmuring to her.

"Calenhiril, look what you have done."

She blinked and slowly turned her head in the direction he was looking. There in the water sat a perfectly healthy looking beech tree with gray eyes and silvery skin, looking at his leafy hands as if they were new to him. She smiled. Beechbone looked up at her in wonder.

"I told you not to be so hasty." She whispered, "Did you think I would let you die?"

For a moment he only stared at her. Then he rumbled, "Forgive me, sister. I knew not of the power."

"We were all ignorant, Beechbone." Treebeard replied, "She is stronger than the last, perhaps more suited in some way that we cannot fathom."

"I don't feel very strong right now." Mel said. In fact, she was starting to feel faint again. And her hands felt hot. She looked down and bit back a scream. Her arms, from her elbows to her fingertips were bright red, even turning purple in places! She tried to fight down panic and think clearly. She needed to do something. Immediately, she ripped her pack off of her back and began digging through it, ripping out bandage and the jar of salve that Eregwen had given her. Quickly, she applied the salve. Instantly she felt the burns cool. She wrapped the bandages around her arms to keep the salve in place, but she already felt better. The fear was beginning to subside and she could think rationally. This was what had happened before. That's why she had gotten sick at the Watcher's Lake. She had taken the sickness and transferred it to her own body and her body had expelled it. In the same way, she had taken on the burns of Beechbone and so she had started to burn up. In fact it was perfectly logical and she wondered why she hadn't anticipated it in the first place.

When she was done wrapping her arms she looked up at Treebeard, "Now may I speak to Quickbeam?"

Treebeard nodded and turned and splashed away to the far side of Isengard, past the dark tower of Orthanc where not a light flickered. Mel shivered and turned away from it. She never wanted to think about that place ever again. When they reached the far wall, she could see several Ents walking to and fro along the wall on both sides of the dam, taking down rubble and clearing away the opening that the broken dam had left, piling the rock on both sides of the river. They were recreating the banks of the Isen.

"Bregalad." Treebeard rumbled. Instantly, the rowan Ent straightened and started wading toward them.

"Yes, Fangorn?" He looked down and saw Mel in the palm of Treebeard's hand. He smiled. "Little sister, you are awake! But what has happened to your hands?"

Mel smiled back at him and translated herself very carefully, "Quickbeam, if you agree to what I'm about to ask you I'll have all the time I need to explain what happened."

"What would you ask of me?"

"I want to…"

But Treebeard interrupted her with a loud rumble, "Think carefully before you answer young Bregalad. What Calenhiril is requesting is dangerous and hasty."

But Quickbeam just turned his smile up to Treebeard, "Danger I have seen aplenty and deemed it not so terrible. And my name would not be Quickbeam the Rowan were I not a hasty Ent. Please, Calenhiril, speak your request."

Mel smiled, "Quickbeam, I would like to ask you to carry Boromir and me to Edoras."

The Ent's eyes suddenly lit up and Mel heard the gentle rumble that she could now identify as Ent laughter. "Oh, little sister, is that all that you require? Why it is hardly a dangerous or hasty thing! Of course I will carry you and your companion."

"Quickbeam!" Treebeard exclaimed, "You have given this no thought at all! It is a long journey."

"Of only a day or two!" Quickbeam answered, his eyes still dancing with merriment, "And to serve the Calenhiril in even such a small task is more than an Ent of my standing could ever ask for. Everything will be quite alright, Fangorn. I will prepare myself for the journey and meet you at the gate in half an hour, if it pleases you, sister."

Mel was so happy she could have danced, "Yes! Yes, it would please me very much, that's perfect! Thank you, Quickbeam, thank you!"

The rowan Ent bowed to her, "The pleasure is mine, Calenhiril." Then he turned and sloshed off into the darkness.

For a moment, Treebeard just stood looking out after him. Then he turned and began to walk back toward the gate muttering under his breath, "Foolish… hasty… no idea… carefully… no thought at all…"

Mel chose not to speak until they got back to the gate, where Boromir was pacing back and forth. When he saw them, he stopped and raced to the edge of the rubble. He held out a hand to help her as Mel stepped off of Treebeard's palm. When she placed her bandaged hand in his, his eyes grew hard and dangerous.

"What happened?" he asked. His voice was monotone. It scared her and she pulled her hand away.

"Nothing. I helped that burned Ent and it burned me. I'm fine." He didn't look like he believed her, "Really, I'm ok. I already feel better." He still looked incredulous, but Mel decided to ignore it. Instead she gave him the good news, "I got us a ride."

--

A/N: Alright you guys, you know the drill by now! I appreciate all the reviews I've gotten (124 and counting! Whoop!!!) I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that it answered a few of your questions. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hey guys, another chapter for you, kind of another filler (sorry about that, necessary evil), but there's some good stuff in here if you look really closely. And just to let you all know, this second installment is quickly coming to an end! Just a few more chapters. I'm trying to stay consistent with the timing in the books and this is close to where the Two Towers ended. But don't worry, after this there will be a third (and possibly fourth) part left for me to write before this little tale is finished. I hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am! Thanks!

**Chapter 14**

Since Boromir just couldn't seem to accept that Mel's arms were really ok, she decided to let him take a look for himself while she explained everything that had happened. He listened carefully, but gave absolutely no indication of how he felt about any of it, choosing instead to focus all his attention on a thorough inspection and rebandaging of her arms. It was starting to grate on her nerves.

"Dear god, Boromir, I'm fine!" she exclaimed, finally snatching them away from him and finishing the bandages herself, "Are you happy now? Quickbeam will be here any minute. I thought we might look around and see if we can find some stuff to take with us, like food." Her stomach was starting to rumble, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since the bits of lembas the previous night. That was probably what was making her so cranky too.

Boromir finally looked up at her, "Are you certain…" He looked around and leaned in closer to her, lowering his voice, "Are you certain we can trust these… these creatures? Is this the best way?"

His words surprised her. "Um, yeah we can trust them. Have you looked around lately? They just destroyed Isengard!"

"That is exactly my point." He replied, his voice still lowered, "Is it safe to be traveling with them?"

"Boromir, have you forgotten who you're talking to?" she asked, "I'm Calenhiril. Trees are my thing." He still did not look completely convinced. It was so strange. The last thing she had expected from him was skepticism. "Trust me. It's gonna be fine. Besides, this is the only way to even have a chance of getting to Gondor in time."

At the mention of Gondor, his eyes darkened and he looked suddenly resolved. He nodded, "Very well. If it is the only way."

She smiled, "Ok, now help me find something to eat, I'm starving!"

Together they found a flooded storeroom filled with floating foods. Most of it was waterlogged and completely useless, but some of the things on the top shelves were still edible. They were able to salvage some dried fruit and meat that looked very much like beef jerky and a few loaves of bread. While they were piling things together, Mel bumped into a small barrel that was floating on top of the water. She started to push it out of the way, but she glanced at the words on the side. In elaborate block letters were the words 'South Farthing.' She smiled and tucked the barrel under her arm. She also found a barrel that looked like it had some wine in it and grabbed it too.

"What is that?" Boromir asked.

She smiled at him, "A parting gift for two of our favorite hobbits."

They waded back to the gate and Mel set the barrels of pipe weed and wine right next to the hobbits. They were curled up so comfortably in their little nook that she couldn't bear to wake them even to say good-bye. Instead, she kissed them each lightly on the forehead and tiptoed away. Boromir was watching her.

"What will happen to them?" he asked as they started to pack the food into Mel's little pack.

"They're gonna do great things." She replied, smiling, "Brave and wonderful things that they can't even imagine." She grabbed a stick of jerky and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. Boromir didn't say anything else.

Moments later, Quickbeam and Treebeard waded toward them. Treebeard still looked fairly rankled. "Barum hum, I still don't like this. Traveling so far across the open plains is something we just don't do. But Bregalad seems set in his hasty ways now and refuses to take my counsel. Calenhiril, I just don't like it."

Mel felt a tiny stab of guilt. Treebeard seemed genuinely upset. "I'm so sorry, Treebeard. If there was any other way I wouldn't have asked."

The old Ent rumbled, but he seemed to settle a bit, "Harum, I would ask only one thing of you, little sister."

"Name it." Mel replied, eagerly.

"Do you know of the Entwives?" He asked.

Something tugged on Mel's heart. The Entwives. Lost for centuries, thought by many in her world to be dead, destroyed by the Dark Lord many years ago. But she had never believed that. She had always held out hope for the Entwives, for Fimbrethil. And now something deep inside her told her that her hope was not misplaced. There was hope for the Entwives.

She nodded, "If I hear anything, Treebeard, I'll let you know. You have my word."

Quickbeam held out his hand and Mel climbed on, followed by Boromir. She noticed that he didn't seem very comfortable settling himself in. This all had to be very strange to him. She wondered if that was why he seemed so wary earlier. Quickbeam stood and faced Treebeard again.

"We're off, Fangorn." He said. Mel could hear the excitement in his voice.

Treebeard held up his long, leafy hand, "Be cautious on your journey, Bregalad. It is a precious burden that you bear."

"I will remember it." Quickbeam replied. Then he turned and strolled out of the gate without another look back. But Mel looked back. Treebeard still stood where they had left him and as long as he was in sight she never saw him move.

When they finally passed out of the shadow of Isengard, Quickbeam turned and started down a well worn road, "So, Calenhiril, at what pace must we go? Do you require speed or luxury? For though to run would prove the fastest, it might not prove the most comfortable."

Mel glanced at Boromir and she almost laughed. He looked so tense! He held onto Quickbeam's branches with white-knuckled hands and his eyes darted from the branches to the ground and back. He fidgeted, twisting this way and that way as if he couldn't quite relax into a comfortable position. Once again, it was something that she had not expected from him. But it quickly told her that she would be making this decision on her own.

"We need to hurry, Quickbeam, but don't knock us out of the branches, ok?" Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Boromir pale when she said that. She turned her head so he wouldn't accidently see her smile.

"A quick stroll then." Quickbeam said and picked up his pace a bit, still keeping himself below a jog, "And now, little sister, I believe you promised me an explanation on this journey. How did you injure your hands?"

Mel looked down at the bandages. She had almost forgotten all about them, "I was helping Beechbone. He was burned during the fight."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's just something I can do. I guess the Yavannacor does it really. I don't know how, but I can help trees that are sick."

For a moment, Quickbeam was silent. Mel used the opportunity to sneak a glance at Boromir. He finally seemed to have settled into a position, but he still hadn't loosened his iron grip on the branches.

Finally, Quickbeam spoke up again, "I have not heard tell of this power in the old stories. How did you know of it?"

"I only knew because I did it once before, outside of Moria."

She felt Quickbeam shudder underneath her. Boromir's face paled again and his fingers tightened their hold. "Moria," the Ent rumbled, "A dark place indeed. I hope that you did not venture inside. Even in our forests away from the world, the Ents have heard tales of horror from that Dwarven Mine."

Mel remembered the close feel of the air and the darkness creeping up on her in the shafts, the feeling of always being stalked by something evil in the murkiness. It made her shudder too. "Yes, we went inside. And there were horrors there. But we escaped."

"Not all of us." Boromir murmured. Mel looked over, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the ground as it flew by underneath them.

"Boromir, I told you. Gandalf is fine."

"Gandalf the Grey?" Quickbeam asked his voice suddenly grave, "Did something happen to the wizard?"

Mel smiled, "Yes, but he's fine now."

"You have seen him then?"

"No, I just know. Maybe I should start at the beginning. This is kind of a long story to just start right in the middle."

"Oh yes!" Quickbeam exclaimed, "Tell me of your journey! I wish to know how you came upon the Yavannacor. Perhaps it is a tale that I can pass down to my Entings should the Entwives be found."

Once again, Mel felt that strange twinge of hope deep inside her at the mention of the Entwives. But she settled back and pushed the feeling out of her mind. She started at the very beginning, with the story of how she came across the Yavannacor in her own world. It felt strange to be telling it again, after so long. It had been months since she had been dropped into this strange new world, and it felt like eons since she had known the joys of air conditioning, fast food restaurants, and cars. In the blink of an eye she had been forced to substitute those conveniences with cool north breezes, beef jerky and traveling across the country by Ent. It surprised her how quickly she had adapted. Not that she'd really had a choice, but still, it seemed almost impossible to believe that she had once thought she would never survive without electricity. All those things that she had thought so important had faded from her memory more quickly than she could have ever imagined. They had been replaced by much more pressing concerns like survival.

And not just her survival. She stole another glance at Boromir. His grip had loosened a little and he seemed to be at least half listening to her story. She made sure to glaze over the bits that reminded her of the person the Ring had made him. She preferred not to dwell on that, instead describing the intense fights through orc-infested mines and hiding from Saruman's spies and spending time under the golden leaves of Lothlorien. The other parts of the story weren't that important anyway. No one else needed to know.

Quickbeam listened intently. When she had finished her story, ending with her capture and rescue from Saruman's dungeon, Quickbeam immediately launched into a flurry of questions. Had they seen signs of the Entwives in their travels? Were there Ents in her previous world? Were there Entwives? How did the trees govern themselves with no tree-herders? Had Trees and Men finally found a way to exist together in harmony?

Mel gladly fielded all of his questions as best she could. Some of them she didn't have the answers too, but she enjoyed discussing it with him. She enjoyed the easy way that Quickbeam spoke, as if every word was a joy to utter and every sentence held behind it some private punch line that only he could understand.

They talked all the rest of the night and well past dawn. It was almost noon and Mel had just pulled out her pack and was rummaging around for some lunch when Quickbeam became silent. He slowed to a gentle stop. Mel glanced up. His eyes were staring into the distance. Mel looked, but she didn't see anything.

"What is it?" She looked at Boromir and he was looking in the same direction Quickbeam was, "What's going on?"

"Can't you hear it, little sister?" Quickbeam murmured. Mel strained her ears. But she couldn't hear anything. "It is the sounds of war."

Mel's mind immediately flashed to Helm's Deep, "Saruman…" she whispered.

Quickbeam nodded, "Though his body be imprisoned in his tower, his evil spreads still of its own accord. I fear for the horse-lords that govern this land. Though they are sturdy and strong, the might of Saruman's armies might still overpower them."

"No." Mel said, "Not the Rohirrim. They're better than that. They'd die before they'd let Saruman's army take them over. They'll fight till there's not one left standing. We don't have to worry about them."

But despite her own words she worried. She missed her friends. She knew they were facing uncertainty and fear in the face of impossible odds. She missed Gimli and Gandalf and Aragorn and Legolas. She wished she could be there with them, to tell them that everything was going to be ok, that they were gonna make it through the night with only a few scratches and scars for their trouble. God, how she missed them.

But that was not the way they were going. She could feel Boromir's eyes watching her, like he was waiting for her to speak. She knew that if she asked, Boromir would probably agree to turn toward Helm's Deep to help their friends. But that wasn't where his heart lay. He wanted to go home. And he could have already been there were it not for her. If he hadn't come to rescue her he could already have been on the walls of Minas Tirith getting ready for the war that was coming. But he had come for her. She couldn't ask him to turn away again.

"Quickbeam, can we go around without attracting too much attention?" she asked.

"I think that most of their attention is focused on the horse-lords, Calenhiril." He answered, "If we continue to follow the road east to Edoras, I believe we can pass by."

"Then, let's go. I don't want to waste any time standing here in the open." She looked over at Boromir and smiled, "We've got places to be."

As quick as that, Quickbeam turned and started on the road again at the same steady pace. But now they were silent and all three of them kept their eyes on the road and the plains around them, searching for any sign of evil. Mel took out a loaf of bread and tore it in half. She handed one half to Boromir who took it without a word, along with a strip of jerky and an apple. They ate silently, as if any noise they made might turn the attention of the entire orc army onto them. And Mel could have sworn that Quickbeam was walking just a little bit faster than before.

For hours they traveled like that, not making a sound. But the silence bothered Mel more than if she had heard the sounds of the battle. The silence left time for her mind to wander, to the past, the present and her increasingly unpredictable future. What would they do once they reached Gondor? Go to Minas Tirith and prepare for the siege. But what would she do? She was no use in predicting the future. Now that Boromir was alive, the future was hazy to her at best. She could make informed guesses and that was it. No longer were the writings of Tolkien set in stone. The endless possibilities made her head swim. She didn't want to think about it any more!

"Quickbeam, tell me more about you." She asked, quietly, "I'm really curious."

He smiled and his eyes brightened. He started to tell her stories, stories of his home on the mountain slopes west of Isengard tending to the groves of rowan trees like children and listening to the birds chatter in the branches in the early morning, before the orcs came and destroyed everything. But he didn't dwell on that. He spoke only of the happy times, of how he and Fladriff an old birch Ent would come together and talk of the world. He told her stories of the beginning of the world, stories that Fladriff had told him as an Enting, for he was one of the three eldest Ents that were left. And as he spoke the shadows of doubt that had started to roll over her like rainclouds suddenly parted and she could feel happiness pouring into her heart like sunshine. She listened intently, asking questions every now and then. Then well into the afternoon, she asked him something very important.

"Quickbeam, tell me about the Entwives."

The Ent didn't speak for a long moment. Then he said, "I was but an Enting when the Entwives disappeared. I remember very little myself. But Skinbark, you know Fladriff that I spoke of earlier, used to speak a little of them, and Fangorn more so when I came to live in his forest. Tall and slender with long hair like that of ripe corn and rosy cheeks on smooth skin that would brown with age and sunlight. They loved to garden and help things grow. They taught your people much in their time, Boromir of Gondor." Boromir jumped but Quickbeam didn't seem to notice, "For the Entwives loved to pass their knowledge on to any Man that would listen. They did not wander much as Ents do. Instead they chose a place that suited them and tended it lovingly coaxing up good things from the earth until they were put out by the Enemy. Treebeard used to sing an old Elvish song about the Ents and the Entwives that he seemed to enjoy. I can remember only the last few lines. 'Together we will take the road that leads into the West; And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.'"

There was a long pause while the echoes of Quickbeam's song faded into the setting sun. Then Mel asked the inevitable question, "What do you think happened to them?"

Quickbeam smiled, "I cannot say, Calenhiril. I, like all my kindred, still hold hope that someday the words of the Elves' song will ring true and we will find the Entwives and a land where we may live in harmony together. After the Enemy burned up the gardens, the Ents searched long and far for their fair maidens. But no word was ever heard. We hope now that the War will soon end and the Entwives will come out of their own accord, eager to grow new gardens and spread their knowledge once again. Some believe," He hesitated, "Some even believe that the Entwives await the arrival of Calenhiril, the maiden of Yavanna, to seek them out and bring them home. But who can truly know the mind of Mother Yavanna? Her ways are not our ways. And so we wait and we hope, each in his own belief."

The thought that maybe she was meant to find the Entwives shocked Mel. For some reason it had never occurred to her. Find the Entwives? How was she supposed to do that? Or maybe she wasn't supposed to do that. Like Quickbeam said, who could know the mind of Yavanna? And she seemed to be the one pulling most of the strings here. All she could do was what she believed was right. She had to be content with that. Worrying about whether she was doing the will of a goddess was only going to make her needlessly second-guess herself and worry more than she could afford to. She had a feeling she was going to have enough on her mind as it was. She glanced at Boromir again. He was looking at her, watching her with a curious expression.

"What?" she asked, a half-smile on her lips.

He smiled back, "I was simply wondering what was on your mind. You looked to be in deep thought."

"Everything is on my mind." She replied, looking out toward the open road. The sun was beginning to set behind them, lengthening Quickbeam's already long and spindly shadow. "There's so much that I'm not sure of anymore. I guess that's what you get when you mess around with history."

She smiled at him, but his own smile had vanished. He looked very serious now, "And the choices you have made? Do you question them?"

She almost gaped at him. What would make him think such a thing? "Never." She whispered, horrified by even the thought, "I don't regret a single thing I've done since coming here." She paused, moving her eyes over the darkening plains again. Then she smiled, "Unless of course you count letting you leave Lothlorien without me in the first place and having to catch up with you. I should never have let you out of my sight. I knew better."

There was a pause. When Boromir didn't answer she glanced back at him. His eyes were on the road. But Mel could see him smile.

The sun slowly set behind them and the stars twinkled to life one by one in the purple twilight. Mel could feel herself being rocked to sleep by the gentle sway of the Ent's stride. But just as she started to nod off, Quickbeam drifted to a halt. She yawned and stretched.

"What is it, Quickbeam?"

The Ent pointed forward, "The lights of Edoras, Calenhiril."

Mel looked where he pointed. In the distance she could see tiny pinpricks of light burning on a plateau. She could hear the ringing of metal and the call of voices drifting on the wind.

"I dare go no closer to the city, little sister." Quickbeam said, "The people will fear my presence and I wish not to cause a panic in an already frightened land. Here we must part at last."

Mel nodded. Boromir swung out of the branches quickly and then reached out a hand to help her to the ground. Together they turned back to Quickbeam.

Mel allowed herself to speak in the Old Entish, "Thank you, Quickbeam."

Once the long, drawn out phrase was finally uttered, the young Ent smiled, "To serve the Calenhiril, even in this small task has been an honor. Take care on your journey, little sister." Suddenly, he fixed his large gray eyes on Boromir, "Son of Gondor, the task you have taken upon yourself is not light. The Daughter of Yavanna is a precious treasure to all the growing things of the world. Watch over her, I beg of you."

Boromir nodded, "It is already done."

Then Quickbeam smiled, "Then back to my post I go, traveling beneath the stars and in the company of a favorable wind to rustle my leaves. Farewell, friends!"

Then he turned and strolled off into the night, humming an energetic tune to himself. Mel and Boromir watched him go. Boromir was the first to turn away.

"Your friends seem like pleasant folk, Melody, but I am glad to be on my own two feet again."

Mel smiled and turned, following the road toward Edoras, "Yeah, I noticed you never did get really comfortable up there."

When Boromir answered he sounded just a little bit flustered, "A walking tree is not something you see often, Melody. It was simply a new experience, one that, I admit, I would not be too fond of repeating."

Mel just smiled and dropped it. The last thing she wanted to do was injure his pride. The fact that he admitted that he didn't want to ride an Ent again was probably a huge deal to him. For a while they walked in silence, Boromir setting a quick pace that brought them steadily closer to the city on the hill.

Suddenly, Boromir broke the silence, "Melody?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why did you not tell the Ent the whole tale of our journey?"

She swallowed, "What do you mean?"

"You know precisely what I'm talking about." Boromir's voice was quiet, but firm.

Mel kept her eyes on her feet, "It was none of his business." She said, quietly, "What was said and done then, it's not who you are now. It's not who you were before the Ring. You're different now and I don't want anybody to judge you for what you did before. Because I don't."

There was a pause. Mel thought maybe the conversation was over. But finally Boromir murmured, "I am only a different man because you gave me a second chance to live as a different man."

"That's not true!" Mel exclaimed, her head whipping toward him, "You were a changed man with or without me. Never doubt that for an instant. You made a mistake, Boromir, but everyone makes mistakes! What separates a good person from a bad person is whether or not they can admit their mistakes and learn from them. And you did. Even if you had…" she hesitated. The words were still hard to say, "Even if you had died at Amon Hen, you still knew that you made a mistake. And you did everything in your power to make it right. You're a good man, Boromir; don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Not even yourself."

Mel went back to studying her feet as they plodded along. She was embarrassed by the monstrous rant she had just given. She could feel her cheeks turning red and was so glad for the darkness and the cool night air. Silently, they continued to walk toward Edoras.

--

"You're a good man, Boromir." Mel said, while he continued to stare at her, "Don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Not even yourself."

Boromir felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, as if he had just sipped at a steaming mug of milk on a cold night. A good man. She thought he was a good man. After all that he had put her through, all the things that he had said to her, even after he had practically abandoned her, she still thought he was a good man. He wanted to believe it himself, with all the conviction and faith that she seemed to have. But his own words repeated themselves over and over again, burning holes into his heart.

"_Am I just a pawn in the game you are playing?"_

"_You speak lies, woman. Let the elf care for you, but I will not."_

"_You don't __belong__ here! You aren't welcome, Melody. No one wants you here!"_

Those last words hurt the most. As they echoed in his mind, it was a like a stab wound in his heart. He couldn't imagine now that he had said those things. The reasoning behind it was hidden in a fog of anger and mistrust that he couldn't begin to understand. But it didn't matter. Because he had said those things. He had hurt her, more deeply than he could possibly fathom. But now things were different. He would never allow her to be hurt again.

--

A/N: Ok, not sure if this is the best place to stop, but that's where I'm stopping. Left it on a little bit of fluff for you. Anyway, another long chapter for you, hope it tides you over until Chapter 15!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Back again guys! Just to let you know, I've committed a horrible error in part one that I have recently remedied. I also went through a few chapters and fixed a few grammatical errors, but you don't have to read that. I would like to suggest that you at least read chapter one of Choices again, but if you don't want to bother, here's the scoop. Boromir was not supposed to have his horse when he got to Rivendell! That's a very important point in this chapter now. At the time, I was paying more attention to the movies (in which he does ride into Rivendell on a horse) than I was to the book. But upon reading the books again, I have discovered that Boromir lost his horse on his journey to Imladris. Sorry for any confusion this might cause anyone, but I did have to go back and change it. I hope you will forgive me! I also wanted to say that part of the reason it took me so long to get this chapter written was because I became suddenly and completely obsessed with this story and it's sequel that I think you should all read. It's called "Don't Panic" and it's on by boz4PM and it is 'girl dropped into ME' at it's finest! I am not worthy to shine the shoes of this author, I assure you. At any rate, let us continue this little journey!

**Chapter 15**

As Boromir and Melody approached the closed wooden gates of Edoras, a loud cry rang out, "Who dares pass through the land of Rohan?"

Mel jumped, but Boromir didn't seem disturbed in the least. He answered, "We are travelers from Gondor seeking shelter in these dangerous lands and uncertain times."

"What business brings you through here?"

"We seek only to return to Minas Tirith and help defend the people of Gondor in the war that is to come."

"Speak your names, I bid you."

Boromir held up his hands, as if to show that he meant no harm. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor the Ruling Steward of Gondor."

There was a pause. Then a bell tolled from somewhere inside and the gates slowly swung open. Boromir put down his hands. Mel just stared at him. It amazed her that just by saying his name, doors would open. She had entirely forgotten who he was in this world. For all practical purposes he might as well be a prince!

As the gates shut behind them, they were met by an older man with a leather helm and a spear. "Lord Boromir, it is an honor to welcome you to our halls once again. You must forgive our caution, but war has already fallen upon our land. We are preparing to strike out for Dunharrow err the sun rises."

Boromir nodded. "We heard the sounds of battle even as we traveled. You need not ask my forgiveness. War comes to my land as well. These are uncertain times."

The man bowed. When he rose, he seemed to see Mel for the first time. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung agape for a moment. Then, he looked like he was about to ask something, but a boy hurried forward just then and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and then sent the boy away.

"Come," he said, "The Lady Eowyn has requested that you be received by her in the Golden Hall."

He spun and walked quickly down the dirt road that led straight through the city, Boromir only a step behind him. Their legs were long and Mel hurried to catch up.

"The Lady Eowyn?" Boromir asked, "The king and his son will be off at war, but I thought the Third Marshall would be left the keeping of the royal city."

"Much has happened since last you entered our lands, my lord." The guard said, "The king's son, Theodred fell in battle on the banks of the Isen, not one week ago."

Boromir seemed shocked, "What ill news! Theoden's only son! What a blow it must have been for him."

The guard continued on, "Had he known of it, I'm sure my lord king would have been most grieved. But Theoden king was under the spell of Saruman and so his every thought and action was controlled by the Wormtongue, Grima." The man seemed to spit out the name with venom, "Not five days ago the king commanded that the Third Marshall, Eomer, be banished."

"The king seemed unwell, even when I saw him last." Boromir murmured.

"Indeed, the snake was crafty and worked slowly to fill the king with darkness. But Gandalf Stormcrow released our king from the curse and so Grima was cast out. But without his son and his Third Marshall, Theoden king had no one left to lead his people as he rode to war. And though he bid the people chose a leader from amongst themselves, but we would have no one were he not from the House of Eorl. So we chose the Lady Eowyn, the king's sister-daughter, to be our ruler in the king's stead."

"An excellent choice." Boromir said, "She is fearless and high-hearted. She will serve the people well."

Mel thought she heard just a twinge of admiration in his voice. But when she snuck a glance at him, his face was blank. Had she imagined it? Was she getting bit by the little green jealousy bug? She shook away the feeling.

As they walked down the street, Mel saw people hurrying to and fro carrying baskets and pulling wagons, loading horses and their own backs with all their belongings. They were all women and children and a few old men, some too old to do anything but sit in doorways and shout out orders to those that passed them by. It seemed sad that they lived in such fear. They had only just got their king back and now they were in danger of losing him again in battle. But they seemed in good spirits, sometimes shouting out jibes and taunts to one another as they worked. The children all seemed to think it was a game and they squealed and giggled as they scurried around, carrying things to wagons and baskets. Mel was amazed at the mood that surrounded them.

The guard turned sharply and led them up a wide set of earthen steps. Mel looked up and could see the outline of the Golden Hall above them. It was a little too dark to see it clearly, but firelight burned within and she could see glints of the golden artwork that adorned the doors. The guard pushed the wooden doors open and led them inside.

The inside of the hall was dim, though there was a roaring fire toward the front and center. But the room was long and so the light from the flames had a hard time making it all the way to the far end. The walls were covered with tapestries, but she didn't have time to look, because the guard was quickly leading them forward. Mel hurried to keep up. There was a flurry of activity even here, many scurrying back and forth between tables laid out in the hall, some taking things out, some bringing things in, but they all seemed to pause as the strangers walked by and Mel thought she saw frantic whispering from the corner of her eye, but she dared not look. She didn't want anymore attention brought to her.

Ahead, on the steps of the great dais, a woman stood tall and regal. Her long blond hair was tied behind her and her dress was brown and plain, but Mel could tell that this was Eowyn. She stood like a warrior-queen, proud and powerful. Mel made sure to stay behind Boromir, suddenly feeling very small in the presence of such great people.

"Hail Boromir, son of Denethor, Lord of Gondor." She said. Her voice was strong and commanding. Mel immediately felt overwhelmed by her.

"Hail Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, Lady of Rohan." Boromir replied, "It appears that we have come to your Hall at a time most inconvenient."

Mel saw Eowyn's eyes flit to her briefly, and then she returned her gaze to Boromir. The hall seemed to have fallen silent as the greetings were exchanged. "You are always welcome in the halls of the Rohirrim, my lord." She replied, "Indeed, it is with relief that I see your face once more. When your steed returned to us riderless, I and my family feared some evil had befallen you. I am glad to see you well."

"I encountered trouble on my road, but I am pleased to hear that Deor returned to you unharmed. He is a fine horse."

"Indeed." Eowyn said, inclining her head, "But forgive me, I am not familiar with your companion. Did he travel with you when you last passed through?"

_He?_ Mel thought, _Did she just call me a 'He'?_

"My apologies, Lady Eowyn." Boromir took Mel by the elbow and gently brought her forward into the light, "May I present Melody Bernston of," he hesitated for just a fraction of a second, "Rivendell. She has journeyed with me since we met there."

When Mel was brought into the light, she saw almost the same reaction on Eowyn's face as on the guard's, just a little less obvious. The lady was shocked. And now she was sure that she heard a frenzy of astonished whispers behind her back. Mel was beginning to wonder what the hell everybody's problem was.

"My apologies, Lady Melody," Eowyn said, "But your appearance and the light seem to have deceived me."

_My appearance?!_ Mel thought, _what the hell's wrong with my…_ But she didn't even have to finish the thought. She was filthy, dressed in men's clothes and her hair barely brushed her shoulders. Of course she looked like a guy! And she probably looked like a pretty atrocious guy too! After all, she hadn't exactly taken her time sawing off her hair. And she hadn't had a decent bath in God only knew how long. She could feel herself blush at the thought of how awful she must look. And there stood Eowyn looking like a queen in a plain brown dress. The embarrassment was almost too much.

"No apologies necessary." She mumbled, as she studied her hands (_oh my god, my fingers are filthy!_) trying to fight her blush, "I'm sure I look awful."

Luckily, Boromir quickly stepped in and saved her from having to say anything else, "I'm afraid she has been through much, my lady, horrors which she would rather not speak of."

Eowyn nodded, "Of course. Horrors abound in all corners of the land. But, tonight you will stay in our halls, as safe from horrors as we can make you. Come, I've had rooms and baths prepared for you. And tonight you dine with me. Ceorl," She turned to the guard who had brought them from the gate. He stood at a stiff attention. "See our guests to the rooms prepared for them and then back to your post. There is much to be done tonight."

Ceorl bowed stiffly, "As you command, my lady."

Eowyn turned back to Boromir and Mel, "We will speak again in one hour's time."

Boromir bowed and Eowyn returned the gesture. Mel would have bowed also, but before she even had a chance to think about it, Eowyn swept out of the room. They both watched her go. Mel was astounded. That woman was definitely all business. Not a second wasted with her. Mel couldn't believe she was actually going to take the time to sit down and have a meal with them.

"Come," Ceorl said, "Your rooms are this way."

They turned and followed the guard down a long hallway that branched out of the main hall, while Mel tried to ignore the looks of shock and sometimes even a look a tad bit like disapproval. She didn't have time to worry about what other people thought of how she looked.

_Damn them all! Who did they think they were anyway? I'd like to see them go through…_ She didn't finish the thought. She couldn't.

It was dark and only a few torches were lit along the way. Mel tried to take in the fact that she was walking in the halls of the Rohirrim, but it all seemed surreal to her. She hurried after the two men, who weren't taking any time at all dawdling and trying to look at the ornate tapestries that lined the walls. Mel was extremely disappointed that she wasn't going to get to see more. However, her disappointment disappeared when Ceorl opened a door to the right and steam billowed out of it. He opened another door to the left and the same steam poured out.

"Your rooms." He said, "My lady's room is here." He indicated the room to the right. Mel took a step forward and peered inside. A hot tub of steaming water sat on a large fur rug in the middle of the stone floor. Next to it was a huge bed with a fur blanket over the top. There was a covered window on the other side of the room. Other than that, the room was plain, but comfortable. Obviously a guest room.

"And my lord's room is across the hall there. Lady Eowyn will send someone for you when the evening meal is served. I must return to my post now. Safe journey to you both."

Ceorl bowed, turned and marched back down the hall, leaving Mel and Boromir standing alone in the hall. Mel suddenly felt a wave of awkwardness. She tried to dispel it by giving him a big goofy smile.

"Well, see you in an hour, I guess." She said cheerfully, and started to turn away.

"Melody," Boromir grabbed her wrist. She stopped and turned back to him. His face was gentle but solemn, "If you need anything at all, you know where to find me."

She smiled, a real smile this time, "Don't be silly, I'm not gonna disturb your bath. I'll be fine."

He nodded and then opened his mouth like he was going to say something else. But then he just smiled and let go of her wrist. Mel waved.

"Bye."

He nodded and she turned away and shut the door behind her, leaning against it. _Man, what is with him?_ She thought. _I mean, what in the world does he think I'm gonna need him for?_ Still, it was kinda nice, knowing that he was thinking about her. She smiled and rubbed her arms to get rid of the goose bumps. _But he sure is acting awfully weird_.

She took a deep breath of the steamy air and smiled. She was getting a bath! She quickly undressed and lowered herself into the water, letting her mind wander away from anything and everything important. She just sat in the hot water not thinking about anything except how good it felt. She used the bar of soap that had been left for her and she scrubbed every miniscule bit of her. She washed her hair probably three or four times before it started to feel even close to how clean she wanted it to feel. And every time she lathered it up again she was filled with horrifying images of black orcs, dark rooms and death. She shuddered and scrubbed until her fingers were sore and then she scrubbed some more.

She finally looked down and got to really inspect herself. Her first thought was to look at her side. It hadn't hurt at all since she'd woken outside of Isengard. She looked and she could just barely make out a faint mark. She supposed that Boromir had used that salve in her bag to heal the rib, though how she had no idea. The wonderful workings of elves… Other than being dirty, the rest of her looked pretty good. She touched her scalp and inspected the nasty gash on her forehead. Nothing by a scar now. Her wrists were torn up, but that was already healed nicely, along with the soles of her feet. Then she looked at the Yavannacor. She could just barely see the markings of the burn scars that lay underneath the ring. She shivered and pushed away the feeling of emptiness that overwhelmed her. Not anymore, Yavannacor was back. She didn't have to feel that anymore.

She got out of the water, which was now a dark nasty brown. She saw that clothes had been laid out for her, a clean white shirt and brown pants. She wondered if that was because they had thought she was a guy. She shrugged. It didn't really matter. She toweled off and she had slipped on the shirt and just tied the pants when there was a soft knock on the door. Mel furrowed her brow. It hadn't already been an hour had it?

She opened the door. An older woman stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips and some material over her elbow. She gave Mel a once over and then she tsked.

"Ay, it's no wonder the good Lady Eowyn sent me, look at the state of ya. It's shameful, I say, downright shameful."

Before Mel had a chance to reply, the woman bustled her way into the room and tossed the cloth onto the bed and then turned and stared sternly at her. "Well, don't just stand there, lass, we haven't the time for dawdling now!"

Mel shut the door and took a tentative step forward, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I am Hildwyn. I've been sent by the lady to see that you be tended to properly. First things first, what's happened to your hair? It looks like you let a horse graze at it."

Mel grinned sheepishly, "Not exactly."

Hildwyn tsked again. "Well, there's nothing to be done about the length of it, but I think I can at least make it a straight cut for ya." She pulled a chair around in front of her and pulled a comb and what looked like a pair of kitchen shears out of a pocket of her apron, "Have a seat, dearie."

The tone of the woman's voice was kind, but left no room for argument. Mel quickly did as she was told and Hildwyn got to work snipping away. She was quiet and efficient. It was possibly the quickest haircut Mel had ever had in her life.

"There," Hildwyn sighed as she made one final snip, "Not my best work, but it'll do in a pinch."

Mel reached back to feel out the length. It reached about to her jaw now and her gentle waves were quickly turning into curls with the shorter cut.

Before she even had a chance to say thank you, Hildwyn was off again. "Now, what in the world do you think you're wearing?" She stepped around to the front of the chair and eyed Mel's appearance critically, "What were they thinking, leaving you that awful get-up?"

"Uh, that I was a man, I guess." Mel shrugged.

Hildwyn shook her head and flapped her hands at her, "No excuse, no excuse at all! Here now, you put this on like a good girl." She walked over to the bed and gave the cloth that she'd had earlier a good shake. Mel could see now that it was a simple, undyed, cotton dress, "It's not the prettiest thing by any means, but the lady says you're to be dressed properly if only for one night. This should fit you fine."

Mel took the dress and smiled, "Thank you."

Hildwyn hmphed. "Thank the Lady Eowyn when you see her. Now put it on, let's see it."

Mel turned her back and pulled off the shirt, tossing the dress on as quickly as she could and then stepping out of the pants afterward. She turned back around and Hildwyn inspected her thoroughly. Mel wondered if she should strike a pose.

"Well, quite a difference it makes to you, being dressed properly. Go take a look at yourself, love, go on."

The woman gestured to a full-length mirror that hung on the wall. Mel took a deep breath and walked toward the mirror. It was the first time she had seen herself since Lothlorien. And a lot had happened since then. She took another breath and stepped in front of the mirror.

It was shocking, but not as bad as she had thought it would be. Her hair was the worst part. It didn't look bad, she was sure that was thanks to Hildwyn's trim earlier, but it was so short. She had loved her long hair. She reached back and ran her fingers through the curls that now only fell to her jaw line. Then she reached up and traced the purple scar that ran from the right side of her hairline to the middle of her forehead. She hadn't realized that it was so visible. It didn't feel that bad, just a tiny bit of raised skin when she ran her finger across it.

"That'll fade with time, dear." Hildwyn murmured behind her, "Don't worry your head about it."

Mel forced a believable smile on her face. "Worry? I wasn't worried. Just looks worse than I thought it would that's all. But the hair looks great!" she said, turning back to the older woman, "Thank you again."

Hildwyn hmphed again and straightened her apron, "As I said, you can thank the lady of the house when you see her. Now off we go, it's supper time."

--

A/N: Well there you are, for now. Originally this chapter and the next one (which is already half-way done, by the way) were all going to be one chapter, but I found it to be unbearably long so I'm cutting it into two. Hope you guys don't mind! :) Thanks for all the love and support that you guys continue to shower on me. You're the best! Until next time, which will be soon, I promise.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Here I am, back again soon as promised! I hope you have all enjoyed Rohan so far, because we won't really get to see much of it (unfortunately). But enough of that, onward!

**Chapter 16**

Hildwyn quickly bustled Mel out of the door and walked across the hall to bang on Boromir's door, "Come on, up you get! No time for dawdling now, supper's served!" Mel had to hide a smile behind her hand. At least she wasn't the only one that got the 'no nonsense' treatment from Hildwyn. Apparently, the serving woman's tone knew no class boundaries.

It only took a moment for Boromir to appear. At first, he stopped in the door and just looked at Mel for a moment, as if taking in her newly cleaned appearance. Mel took the opportunity to return the favor. He was dressed in a plain undyed cotton tunic and brown pants, his sword still belted around his waist and the Horn of Gondor hung over his shoulder. All in all they were simple clothes, but they were clean and his face clean shaven, his hair still slightly damp. He lifted his hand a bit as if to reach out and touch her. Mel suddenly felt very conscious of the ugly dark scar that ran across her forehead. She dropped her eyes and Boromir seemed to notice that she was uncomfortable because he seemed to think better of his actions and lowered his hand to his side once more.

"Yes, yes, she looks a proper woman now, you can gawk at her later if you so chose, my lord." Hildwyn said, flapping her hands at him and heading off down the hall, "But the Lady Eowyn has bid you eat with her. Come, come!"

Mel thought she saw just the hint of a blush in Boromir's face, but his expression never changed and it could have been a flicker of the torchlight that hit him wrong. He turned and followed the woman down the hall, leaving Mel to once again try to keep up behind him as she attempted to take in as much of the tapestries on the way out as she could. She wished she knew all the old Rohirric tales so she could understand the intricate pictures weaved on the walls. But even if she had, it would have been impossible to discern any kind of a story at the furious pace that they were being led.

Finally, they emerged into the main hall once more. Even more people were there and they all seemed to be sitting down to a quick meal. Bowls were filled with some kind of stew from a large pot at the far side of the room and bread was placed at regular intervals along the tables. Women hurried about filling glasses with wine and making sure the bread was plentiful, but you could tell this was a very informal affair. As women finished their bowls of stew they would stand and take one of the serving women's duties while she would fill her own bowl and sit down to eat. Mel was amazed at how efficiently it was all run.

At one of the tables closest to the front of the room, Eowyn saw them enter and stood, motioning for them to join her. Boromir didn't even hesitate. Mel on the other hand was a bundle of nerves. She was actually going to sit and eat stew with THE Lady Eowyn of Rohan! It was rather unsettling, knowing what was going on in Helm's Deep even as they spoke. Which meant… It had to be the night of March the third. It had to be. Wasn't that the night that the battle of the Hornburg took place? She would have been so sure if she had something to look at, something to reassure herself that she was right. But as it was, she had nothing, no Appendices to refer to, no internet to research. But there was a tiny voice in her head that assured her that she was correct. It was March third. She suddenly had her bearings again. As Boromir and Lady Eowyn greeted each other, Mel's mind started racing. March third… That meant she had been captured for five days. Five days she had been in the grip of uncertainty. Five days of living in fear and exhaustion. For five heart-breaking days she had thought Boromir was…

"Lady Melody, I am pleased to see that Hildwyn was able to find you something suitable to wear this evening on such short notice."

Mel started out of her thoughts and realized that, not only was Lady Eowyn speaking to her, but all three had sat down and wine had been poured and she hadn't even noticed! She quickly answered, "Yes, it was very kind of you to send her, my lady. I know that there is much to be done tonight and for you to have spared her, even for the brief moments that she was with me was very generous of you."

But Lady Eowyn waved away her comment, "Think nothing of it. I will not have a guest in my house poorly looked after."

"All the same, I thank you." Mel replied. She was trying her best to make her speech formal. It only seemed appropriate. And she hoped it was less likely to raise eyebrows.

She picked up her cup and took a sip as she casually glanced around her, hoping she hadn't looked too distracted. But then she caught Boromir's eye. He was scrutinizing her as he chewed a hunk of bread. Oh god, she must have really looked out of it for him to be staring like that. She set down her cup and picked up her spoon, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

Eowyn turned her attention back to Boromir, "Ceorl says that you plan to head east to your city from here, Lord Boromir. How long do you think you will be with us?"

"Only for the night, my lady. We will leave at dawn as you do."

Mel looked up as she took her first sip of broth from her bowl. She thought she saw a faint glimmer of disappointment pass over Eowyn's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, so quickly that it might not have even been there.

"I see. Your people need you with them, I am sure, to prepare them for the dark days ahead. They are fortunate to have such a Captain as you to lead them."

"No more fortunate than the Rohirrim with such a great king of the House of Eorl defending them. I was grieved however to learn of your cousin. You have Gondor's sympathies for your loss, my lady." Boromir said his eyes soft as he looked at her.

Eowyn bowed her head a little and swirled her spoon in her bowl. But her eyes were less sad and more determined, "He died with honor defending that which he loved. We should all be so lucky to meet such a valiant end."

Mel was mesmerized. The way that she spoke was like a woman who had already seen and accepted that her death was coming and soon. But she seemed so eager to meet it. How could someone yearn for death so much, even a valiant one? What could mean more than life?

But suddenly, Lady Eowyn's eyes seemed to clear and she looked up at them both, "But come, let us not have such dark talk at the table. Perhaps all will seem brighter in the dawn's early light. Eat and then you will have a good night's rest here in our halls before we see you off to the eastern shadows."

Boromir inclined his head to her, "Thank you my lady. Your generosity is great."

Then Eowyn smiled for the first time, "But if I know you, Boromir, you have need of more than food and rest."

Mel glanced at Boromir. He was giving the Lady of Rohan a half smile in return, "You do know my ways, Lady Eowyn."

Eowyn almost seemed to laugh, "Come now, out with it. What else do you require? Though I could possibly guess at the nature of your request, I would hear it from your own lips."

Mel watched all of this with interest and just a twinge of something that she couldn't quite name, but it left a bitter feeling in her stomach. They seemed so at ease with one another. Mel suddenly realized that it was because they were very nearly equals, all be it from two different realms. They understood one another in a way that Mel could barely fathom. They were practically royalty in a world that treated royalty with respect and high regard. They weren't just show pieces. They actually influenced the movement of kingdoms. And Mel couldn't tear her eyes away.

Boromir's eyes dropped to his bread and he tore off another piece as he made his request, "It seems that I might have need of Deor's services once again, my lady, if only for a short while."

Eowyn nodded, still smiling, "Yes, I thought that might be so. You have need of haste and Deor has the strength to carry you many miles at speed. I believe he remained in the stables after the men left Edoras. He is wild as you know and better suited as a messenger's horse than a beast of battle."

"And perhaps one of his stable mates might suit Melody for the journey as well." Boromir added, gesturing to her. He was smiling at her and Mel forced a smile back, but to be honest she was feeling a little upset.

_Oh yeah, thanks for remembering me, I thought maybe you were having such a fine time that you forgot I existed._ She thought bitterly. In the back of her mind she knew that the tone of her thoughts was completely uncalled for, but she felt… she felt… inadequate! That was the word. She felt completely inadequate in the company of such a great woman and the feeling was only heightened by the fact that she and Boromir seemed to be getting along just swimmingly.

Eowyn looked over at Mel as if she really had forgotten for a moment that she was there, "Yes, of course, I believe I know just the steed. How skilled a rider are you, Lady Melody?"

Mel swallowed and forced down a wave of irrational anger. "My uncle raised horses and taught my sisters and I to ride when we were younger. Though previous to a couple of months ago it had been some years since I had ridden, I believe I am fair at it. Though, of course, I am sure I have little skill compared to the people of the Riddermark."

She could see out of the corner of her eye that Boromir was surprised. Of course, he had never seen her ride, so he wouldn't have any idea that she had that skill. She felt just a tad smug knowing she had surprised him, and pleasantly from the way he was smiling at her. She dipped her spoon into her stew again. It was really quite tasty, even though it was simple. Mel had eaten a good half of hers already.

Lady Eowyn smiled at her, "I am sure you are more than capable, Lady Melody." She said, "I believe that riding a horse is a skill one does not easily forget."

_Like riding a bike._ Mel thought, smiling to herself. Eowyn didn't seem to notice. Instead she stood with her empty bowl and cup in hand.

"I will have your horses prepared for you tomorrow. I trust you remember the way to our stables, Lord Boromir, well enough to find your own way. The dawn will bring little time for fond farewells, I'm afraid."

Boromir waved his hand at her and smiled, "I remember my way quite well, Lady Eowyn. I know that you have duties to attend to. I thank you for your hospitality and generosity. I assure you, the horses will be returned to you when we reach the first beacon at Halifirien."

Suddenly, Eowyn's face looked grim, "I do not doubt that the horses will be returned to us, but long it may be for them to find their way home again. War is upon us all, my lord and my people live in fear. I only hope that I may help you reach your own people a little sooner and spare them the fear of destruction and desolation that my own kinsmen feel." There was a moment of silence between them. Then Eowyn bowed her head a little, "Forgive me, I must see to the preparations. Safe journey to you."

Eowyn turned and strode from the hall, leaving Mel and Boromir to stare after her. Mel glanced over and saw Boromir staring after the White Lady with a hint of something she could only identify as admiration. She turned back to her bowl, even though she had temporarily lost her appetite. It was possible she had misinterpreted his expression, but the crazy part of her brain that seemed to be in charge lately seriously doubted it. And that brought on more unreasonable resentment. She pushed the last bits of meat and vegetables around in her bowl for a minute, trying to get a handle on her whirling emotions. She knew it was wrong to feel angry at Eowyn, after all it wasn't her fault she had been born into the world strong, bold and beautiful, but at the same time Mel wished that she could captivate Boromir's attention as the White Lady seemed to. But that would never happen. She would never be Eowyn or any other woman of this world. She would always be Mel, just plain Mel, with nothing by short hair and an ugly scar to show for her trouble. She realized with a shock that her love for Boromir was just as hopeless as Eowyn's love for Aragorn. Just as Eowyn could never hold a candle to Arwen Undomiel, Mel would never hold a candle to the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. Or any other lady of noble birth, she imagined.

She suddenly reached for her wine glass, which had just been refilled, and drained it. Probably not the smartest thing she had ever done, but a couple of glasses of wine never hurt anyone. And it made her feel better, or at least she knew it would in a few minutes when the alcohol finally hit her system. And just the thought of feeling better made her mood improve.

"I didn't know you could ride." Boromir said.

_Oh, sure, NOW you're gonna talk to me like I'm actually sitting at the table with you!_ She thought, her irritation resurfacing.

She looked up and Boromir was smiling at her still looking rather surprised at this little tidbit. The smirk on his face annoyed her.

"Yeah, well, I'm not entirely useless, you know." She had meant to sound like she was half-joking. Instead all of her anger seemed to have bubbled out with that one phrase.

Boromir's smile disappeared replaced by a furrowed brow, "Is there anything wrong, Melody?"

She took a deep breath and took another spoonful of stew. She shook her head as she swallowed, "No, no, sorry. I'm just tired I guess."

_Of course, I'm tired, I've been through hell and now I get to have the fact that I'm practically a lowly peasant rubbed in my face, so pardon me if I'm not in the best god damn mood!_

She couldn't seem to stop the angry thoughts that swirled through her mind as she finished her stew, wiping out her bowl with a piece of bread. They were angry and depressing in turns one mood leading to the other in a never-ending spiral of bad-temper that she couldn't seem to pull herself out of. She reached for her wine glass again, but Boromir reached out and touched the back of her hand.

"We should get some rest. We leave early tomorrow." His face was still lined with concern when he looked at her. Mel felt a surge of fury at him, but she quickly forced it away. There was no reason to be angry with him either. It wasn't his fault he'd been born handsome, kind and good and just so happened to be a Gondorian prince who would never, ever be interested in a poor, lonely commoner from the future. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. He was right. She needed some sleep. Maybe that would clear the craziness out of her head. And besides she thought her first couple glasses of wine might finally be hitting her. She could feel the tell-tale lightness in her being. Wow, didn't take much of that Rohirric wine did it?

She nodded and Boromir stood and offered her his hand. She took it and stood up, looking around the Meduseld for the first time since they had entered for supper. A lot of the people had cleared out, but there were several women running around, clearing away dishes and wiping tables. She suddenly felt bad that she had used their dishes and she wasn't going to help them at all. They were going to be running for their lives in the morning and she was going to make them wash her dirty dishes? Not a chance in hell! She turned and started to gather her dishes and Boromir's, stacking them as neatly as she could.

"Melody, it's really not necessary…"

But she ignored Boromir's attempts to stop her. Maybe some mundane task would help her feel better, keep her mind off of the fact that she had just realized the man she loved was way out of her league. All of their dishes stacked in her arms, she approached the nearest serving woman, "Where do these go?" she asked.

The woman looked at her, clearly shocked. At first she tried to take them from her, but Melody held firm, "No, tell me where they go."

The woman looked confused. Mel realized that she might only speak Rohirric, in which case she was screwed. She didn't know any Rohirric. How was she going to convey what she was trying to tell her?

Suddenly, Boromir's voice spoke up behind her. But he was speaking a bunch of gibberish. Mel and the woman both looked up at him, Mel's eyes wide with surprise. But the woman smiled and flapped her hands and started chattering excitedly in the same sort of gibberish that Boromir had just been speaking. Mel realized with a start that it must be Rohirric. Boromir spoke Rohirric?

Before she had time to contemplate the matter further the woman made a grab for the bowls and cups again, but Mel held on tight," No! Tell her no, Boromir, tell her I want to help."

"I have already told her as much, Melody, but she insists that you are a guest and needn't worry about such things. She refuses to allow you to help her."

As Boromir spoke, the woman finally got a grip on the dishes and dislodged Mel's hands, still babbling on apparently oblivious to the fact that Mel didn't understand a word she said. Then she smiled and bobbed into a half-curtsy before she hurried off, loading up more bowls and cups as she did.

Mel just blinked after her, "What in the world was she going on about?"

"Mostly about how her family had served the House of Eorl for generations and it was her honor-bound duty to clean up and no foreign lady, begging your pardon, would ever do it properly as it had been done for hundreds of years." Mel turned to stare up at him mouth agape. He just smiled at her. "Or something very similar to that. She did thank you profusely for you willingness however."

_Yeah, lot of damn good that did me!_ Mel thought. God, she was tired. Even the serving woman's cheerful prattling was a source of annoyance.

Boromir almost seemed to read her mind. He held out his arm to her, "Perhaps we should get some rest."

Mel nodded and took his arm. It seemed so weird, after so many weeks of traveling with him in the middle of the wild, to suddenly be thrown back into proper society where it was deemed appropriate and perhaps even necessary to offer a woman your arm if you intended to walk in the same direction together. It all seemed so pointless. And yet this meaningless society was the basis for her bad mood. The social order that Mel had found herself flung into dictated that Boromir had a much higher status than she did and so she was inadequate. It was enough to make her homesick. But then again, even if she had met Boromir in some modern setting, wouldn't he have still been out of her league simply by existing as the man she knew now? The whole thing made her head spin and she tried not to think about it anymore.

Together they wandered out of the Golden Hall and down the corridor toward their rooms. Mel was so tired that she barely noticed the tapestries as they passed by. But one image caught her eye and she looked up. A large man stood in the midst of a snow covered campsite, unarmed and dressed all in white, his golden hair blowing in the midst of a snowstorm. At his feet lay one man dead and a group of men fleeing from him, terror apparent on their faces.

She didn't realize that they had come to a stop until Boromir spoke softly, "Helm Hammerhand, besieged at the Hornburg."

Mel felt her heart leap to her throat. Helm's Deep. She looked and she could see the mountainous fortress at Helm's back, weaved in stunning detail. Just as with Helm Hammerhand, Theoden King now lay besieged at the Hornburg. Along with Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas. She shook her head to clear her mind of the thoughts.

"They'll be fine." She whispered. Boromir glanced at her, but he didn't say anything. Instead he gently led her away from the tapestry and down the hall to their rooms in silence.

When they finally got to the doors Mel slipped her hand out of the crook of his arm and laid it on the doorknob. But Boromir grabbed her elbow.

"Melody." He whispered her name. She felt a little shiver go down her spine and tried to chalk it up to the drafty corridor, but she couldn't fool herself. She turned back to him. He looked concerned again, his grey eyes soft and kind, "I know something was disturbing you at supper this evening. I do not ask that you speak of it if you do not want to. But, know that it pains me to see you troubled." His eyes dropped to the floor, "I… I hope you know that, despite what has happened in the past, you can rely on me to help carry any burden you may bear. In fact I would accept it gladly if it would ease you. I realize that much of what has happened would not have occurred were it not for…"

His voice broke and he went silent. Mel could tell that this was painful for him and she felt extremely guilty for making him feel this way. All over something as petty as her own jealousy and misplaced feelings. What would he think of her if he knew the real reason for her bad mood? She reached out and touched his arm.

"You don't owe me anything, Boromir." She said, "If anything, I owe you. You saved my life. Don't beat yourself up over choices that weren't yours to make. I made a choice and I suffered the consequences of that choice. But I reaped the rewards too." Boromir finally met her eyes again and Mel smiled at him, "I don't regret it and neither should you."

For a moment, they were both silent. Mel thought they were done, but Boromir still had a hold of her arm. She was about to ask him if there was something else, when he finally pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. At first she was so shocked that all she could do was lay there. Was she dreaming? This couldn't be real. But she felt warmth well up in her stomach. She felt tingly all over. Slowly, she reached her arms around him and hugged him back, almost afraid to move too fast lest the dream be shattered. Finally, she buried her face in his shoulder and sighed. If it was a dream, she would let it continue, if only for a little while. After all, what harm could it do, to pretend that this was more than it probably was, than it possibly ever could be? She felt his cheek rest on the top of her head.

"Melody, I was so afraid." He whispered into her hair.

She took a deep breath and whispered, "So was I."

As much as she wanted to just stand there all night, the cynical part of her brain knew that she very well might never be this close to him again. So she worked hard to commit every sensation she was feeling right now to memory. She tried to memorize his smell, faint now since he had just washed little more than an hour ago. But there was definitely a distinct smell about him, the smell of leather and pipe smoke that seemed to linger on his skin. She memorized the way his arms held her just tightly enough to make her feel warm and safe, the weight of his cheek pressed against the top of her head, the rapid beating of her heart that she desperately hoped he couldn't hear or feel. And she also listened to the rhythm of his heart, memorizing the pace. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Finally, the moment came, the end of her little bit of perfection. He pulled away from her and Mel felt a little piece of her heart crumble. She almost felt like she could cry, but she wouldn't, she was too afraid that it would make his face crease with worry again. So she held back her tears and tried to smile at him. His eyes flitted across her face as if he were contemplating something very seriously. She was about to offer him a penny for his thoughts when she realized that would probably make absolutely no sense to him. That made her genuinely smile. Finally, Boromir seemed to put whatever he was thinking aside and he smiled back.

"Forgive me, you are tired and we leave early tomorrow. I will leave you to your rest." He kissed her hand and Mel imagined that his lips lingered just a second too long there, even as the angry, degrading part of her told her she was full of it. "Sleep well, Melody."

She forced her smile to stay on her face, "You too, Boromir."

Then before her mask could crack, she turned around and stepped into her room, shutting the door in Boromir's face. She took a deep breath and quickly crossed the room, throwing herself under the blankets on the bed, trying not to think of anything, just hoping that she would fall asleep. But it didn't happen. And as she lay there in the dark her mind started rolling over all the reasons why she would never be good enough for the son of a Steward. Then she quietly cried into her pillow.

A/N: Well, there you have it. Hope it wasn't too depressing or angsty or cheesy. If it is please let me know. I'm just trying to make it realistic, I hope I'm succeeding. Anyway, enjoy! Next chapter should be up shortly, but don't expect it as soon as this one.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: *peeks around a corner* Hi guys… *waves timidly* Sorry it's been awhile, it's been crazy over here and this chapter was really hard. But it's really long too, so maybe that'll help cheer you guys up a little. Thanks for all the great reviews! You guys are awesome. Anyway, hope you enjoy! J

**Chapter 17**

_It was dark. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he must be asleep, that he had to be dreaming. But there were no images, only sounds, voices in the dark, murmuring in tones that became more and more heated as the words became clearer to him._

"_... a mistake that must be remedied!" a man called out, with a voice deep and rolling like thunder._

"_How can you call it a mistake?" a woman cried, a voice he recognized, only now it was high pitched like a gale wind blowing through a forest, "How can you look at him and call this a mistake? How can you look at her and call it a mistake?"_

"_This is not how the song was sung, Yavanna." another male voice, this one decisive and steady, "You know this. We here understand your feelings for the girl, but Mandos is correct. This must be put right."_

_He started to feel anxious. Mandos, keeper of the Halls of the Dead. Yavanna, a name he was becoming increasingly familiar with. What manner of conversation was he being made privy to? To what end had the Valar had been called into conference?_

"_My lord, Manwe," the name sent shivers down his spine, "with all due respect, I don't believe that you do understand. He saved her life. How can I not grant him the same?"_

"_You have promised that which you did not have the power to grant!" The booming voice of Mandos proclaimed, "It is not your place to give life to those who have no right to it!"_

"_Peace, my lord." a feminine voice murmured, but with the same authority as Manwe, "Yavanna did as her heart led her. I do not doubt that we would all do the same if our places were exchanged. Love sometimes forgets previously familiar boundaries."_

"_Well spoken, my love." Manwe said, "But the problem persists." He sighed, "The world remains unbalanced so long as Boromir, the Son of Gondor, lives."_

Boromir woke with a start. He shot up in bed and threw off his blankets, putting his feet on the cold stone floor to try and orient himself, to put distance between himself and the dream. His head was pounding and his stomach felt like it was clenched in a knot. He ran a hand through his hair and discovered that he was damp with sweat. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, assuring himself that he was indeed awake. But the words of the dream echoed in his mind even now. _The world remains unbalanced so long as Boromir, the Son of Gondor, lives. _They were harsh words. Even though he knew that in some way Melody had saved his life, that he shouldn't be living, he had never thought it would be a matter to bring the Valar into conference, or be the topic of such heated discussion. They were fighting over his very life and he had no say in it! Suddenly he was outraged. Should he not have at least a few words in his own defense? Should he not be able to state his own case for living? It was clear that Yavanna was pleading valiantly with her brothers and sisters to save him, but would that be enough? Should they not hear what he had to say?

_And what would I say?_ He wondered dejectedly, _What_ _case could I give them that I should continue to live my meager existence? I have betrayed my country, my father, those that I love most. What reason do I have to keep living?_ As if in answer, Melody's face floated out of the blackness of his mind and wavered before him in his mind's eye. Where would she go if something were to happen to him? How would she survive in this world that was so strange to her even now after many months of living among them? Who would look after her if he were not there and with all her other friends fighting their own battles? How could they rip him away from her now?

He sighed and stood, softly making his way across the room and laid his hand on the wooden door. Through two wooden doors and roughly ten feet of open space lay his savior, a woman who had been through hell and back, all to save his pathetic life and then, despite everything, still found the courage and heart to say that she thought he was a good man. He leaned his forehead against the door and closed his eyes. How could the Valar throw all of that away? Did it truly mean nothing to them?

He heard a bell begin to toll out the time. It was just an hour until dawn. And then he heard Melody scream.

–

_It was cold. And it was black. Mel started to shake. She strained her eyes, but there was nothing to see. She strained her ears but there was nothing to hear. Then, out of the darkness came a distant clanging. She went rigid. What was this? Where was she? Suddenly the darkness lifted and she was in the little round room. Her prison, in Orthanc. She gasped and tried to run, but she was chained to the wall again. And the clanging continued, drawing steadily closer. Her mind whirled in a panic. Saruman was here, he was coming, he was going to kill her! She struggled against her shackles, but they held her fast. She had to get away, she had to run! The clanging was right on top of her now, slow and rolling. Whatever it was, it was coming for her, she knew it, it was some kind of device meant to torture her, to kill her. Finally, the door swung open. Light flooded the tiny room. And she could see the cloaked figure of the White Wizard in the doorway. Finally, she screamed._

Mel shot out of bed and went flying across the room, just running blindly, still screaming like a banshee. She needed to get out, she had to escape. She could still hear the distant clanging. Then her door was flung open and she ran straight into someone blocking her way. She quickly backpedaled, trying to wiggle out of her captor's grasp, but he held her tightly by the shoulders.

"Let me go! Please, please, don't hurt me, just let me go!" she screamed, struggling against the one who held her.

But then she heard his voice, Boromir's voice, "Melody, Melody, what's wrong? What's happened?"

Finally, the remnants of her dream faded, chased away by the concern and kindness in his voice. She collapsed, sobbing into his chest, for just a moment not caring who saw or what polite society dictated she should do in this situation. She just clung to him and cried, her heart pounding and her body shaking violently. She felt him wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly, rubbing her back and making soothing noises.

"It's alright, Melody, it's going to be alright. No one is going to hurt you, I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you."

After what felt like an eternity (but was probably only a few minutes), the tears slowed to a trickle. Mel took a few shuddering breaths and finally pushed herself away, feeling just a little bit embarrassed. After all, she'd made an awful spectacle over a stupid dream. And she had obviously worried Boromir for no reason at all. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, trying to avoid looking at him.

"Sorry, I guess I had a nightmare." she whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I was already awake." he whispered back. Mel noticed his tousled hair, his naked chest and his bare feet and decided that she seriously doubted that. But while she was making that assumption he gently took her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. As she stared into his soft gray eyes her heart started stuttering and her breath got shallow, even as she reprimanded herself for being such an overreacting, hopelessly silly romantic.

"Melody," he murmured and her heart skipped an entire beat, "I had a..."

"Oh gracious!" a woman cried. Mel instantly recognized Hildwyn's voice and she stumbled out of Boromir's touch, her face burning in embarrassment. There was the serving woman standing in the hall just outside the door, her face as red as Mel's face felt. God, this must look as awful as she imagined it looked. Here she was, standing with a half-naked man that she was traveling with ALONE! She imagined that tongues were already flapping in all corners of Edoras and now this! It didn't matter that nothing had happened, that in all probability nothing was going to happen. What mattered was that it LOOKED like something had happened. God, she just wished that the floor would open up and swallow her!

After half a moment of shocked silence, Hildwyn finally recovered herself enough to start stuttering out excuses, "Begging your pardon, I was just bringing some things, but I can come back in a moment, I have other matters I can see to..."

"That won't be necessary." Mel stared at Boromir in shock. His face was smooth and his voice was calm and level, as if Hildwyn had stumbled onto nothing unusual at all, as if he and Mel were simply having a mundane, unimportant conversation that had been unexpectedly interrupted. "I was simply making certain that Lady Melody was awake. We have a long journey ahead of us and I wish to be off as soon as possible." Mel glanced at Hildwyn and could see that she wasn't buying it. She might be a simple woman, but she wasn't stupid. And Mel guessed that was also why she simply nodded her head at Boromir.

"Very well, my lord, forgive my intrusion, but I have a few things that the Lady Melody might find helpful for the journey. If you'll excuse us." With that, Hildwyn bustled herself into the room, forcing Boromir to take a few steps back to allow her in, and then she promptly shut the door in his face.

Mel just stood still, staring at her feet, not quite sure what to do with herself. But Hildwyn seemed to have put the whole situation out of her mind and hurried right on past her, tossing an armful of things onto the bed.

"Now then, I'm back, at the Lady Eowyn's request, and I've come to give you some things you'll be sorely needing in the days ahead. These are treacherous times and one can't be too prepared I always say. Now I've brought you some decent clothes to ride around the countryside in, simple but they do the job."

She shook out a white shirt and a pair of brown leggings and laid them on the bed. Mel took a few tentative steps forward and peered over Hildwyn's shoulder at the rest of the things she had brought. Hildwyn just carried on chattering.

"You can keep the dress you've got if you like, never know when you might need a good, sturdy dress, not much anyway, mostly just a couple pieces of plain cloth strung together. And of course you got to have a pair of riding boots, can't have you wearing slippers, you'll be footsore in an hour. The pack you came with was fair to decent so I left that out, little small I think but to each their own. Ah!" she cried and Mel jumped back a little. Hildwyn whipped around, "This was by special request of the Lady herself."

The woman held a rough leather belt in her hand, which was attached to a sword. The sheath was plain like the belt and the hilt of the sword wasn't elaborate, just plain gold with some kind of woven pattern on the grip. Mel suddenly remembered her gift from Elladan, the beautiful Elven sword that was now lost God only knew where. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of it since Amon Hen. She felt a wave of guilt at the thought of having lost her friend's gift with no way of getting it back.

Hildwyn didn't seem to notice her distress. The older woman pulled the sword fluidly from the sheath and held it out to Mel, "Do you know how to use this, girly?"

Mel nodded and took the sword from her hands, weighing it carefully before she gave it a few practice swings.

"It's a bit heavier than what you might be used to in Rivendell, all that elvish nonsense." Hildwyn said, watching her carefully with her hands on her hips, "But it's good craftsmanship, won't ding up or notch easy and it serves it's purpose. Lady Eowyn insisted that you have one and I firmly agree. There's all kinds of beasties and goblins out there and a woman needs to be able to defend herself."

Mel smiled and did a few short practice moves, becoming acquainted with the blade. Hildwyn was right, it was heavier than her other sword had been and her movements were clumsy and slow. She felt shamefully out of practice. Of course the last time she had gripped a sword she had been thinking less about form and more about staying alive. The unbidden image of the sea of orcs charging down the hill made her shudder. She almost dropped the sword. She swallowed and took the belt from Hildwyn, sheathing the sword before she could embarrass herself any further.

"Thank you, Hildwyn. And thank the Lady Eowyn for me. The kindness of you both has been more than I imagined."

Hildwyn snorted, "Thank the Lady yourself, I'm sure she'll see you off. Now, if you'll excuse me there's packing still to be done and we leave in a scant hour." Then without another word, Hildwyn strutted out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

The second she left, Mel felt an urgency and an anxiousness flood her body. She couldn't be still. She walked to a small washbasin and splashed cold water on her face. Then she quickly dressed and packed away the rest of the things she had been given, including the dress. Even though Hildwyn had worded it like an option, Mel felt that it would have been extremely rude to leave it behind. And besides that, she liked it. It was comfortable and simple, easy to maintain and Hildwyn was right, you really never knew when you might need a good dress, especially in this world. She ran a hand through her hair to smooth it down, forcing away the sick feeling in her stomach when her fingers only had to comb to her jawline. Then, she clasped on her cloak, the same cloak that had survived hell and kept coming back. She reminded herself to thoroughly question Elladan about it when she went back to Rivendell.

Finally, she buckled on the sword belt and went to give herself a once over in the mirror. The clothes felt like they were actually tailored to fit a woman, not baggy and shapeless like the others had been. All in all, she looked ready to face the world again. But as much as she tried to ignore it, her eyes kept straying to the dark reddish purple mark on her forehead. And if her eyes were drawn there, she was sure others would be drawn there as well. And the last thing she wanted was for some poor fool to ask her, 'Hey, how'd you get that scar?' smiling like a drunken idiot expecting a great story. It was a story she just wasn't ready to tell, a story she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready to tell. Unconsciously, her hand strayed to the Yavannacor, twisting it around and around on her finger until she realized what she was doing and clasped her hands together like a little girl who'd been caught biting her nails.

She sighed and straightened the clasp on her cloak, even though it hadn't needed it and gave herself a pep talk, "Alright, Mel, listen up. You've been through hell, no one's denying it. But it's time to suck it up. You have more important things to be worrying about than your stupid vanity. You can do this. Let's get it over with. Move out."

With that she slung her pack over her shoulders, marched over to her door, yanked it open and froze. Boromir was standing in the hall, now fully dressed, as if he had been waiting on her. Mel felt herself blush. God, had he heard her little pep talk just now?

But his face remained passive and his tone all business, "Good, I was just coming to fetch you. I'm glad to see that you are prepared." He gestured to her waist and Mel put a hand on the hilt of the sword, "I had thought to ask the Lady Eowyn about that, but it seems she had the same thought."

Mel felt her heart sink a little as she heard what she perceived as just a touch of admiration in his voice. But she yanked herself out if it as quickly as she could and smiled at him.

"Yeah, she thought of a lot of things. Look, new shoes!" she held out one of her feet for him to examine.

Boromir smiled and shook his head at her unusual enthusiasm over her footwear, "Come, it's nearly dawn. We'll walk to the stables."

Boromir strode forward and once again Mel found herself hurrying to keep up with his long stride. Apparently, when the dress was gone so was the need for formality, so they simply walked side by side, not arm in arm, which Mel tried to think of as a good thing. After the debacle this morning if he had offered her his arm she probably would have point blank refused. And besides, maybe they should start setting boundaries. After all, who knew what the code of conduct would be in Minas Tirith, but Mel suspected that it would be rigidly polite, especially when it concerned the first born son of the Steward. She probably needed to get used to keeping her distance. Maybe it wouldn't be such a shock to her system when they got there. Maybe it would help her be more realistic.

She wanted to pause and have a look at the tapestry of Helm Hammerhand one more time, but Boromir blew right on past it without even a glance. Mel caught a glimpse of gray, white and gold and then it was gone, lost behind her in the darkness of the pre-dawn corridor. It was then that she realized that she was leaving Edoras. Most likely she would never be able to come here again. And she had seen so little. She kept her head up and her eyes wide, hoping to catch more images and burn them into her brain, but at the same time she felt a deep burning hole of regret in her stomach that made her eyes tear up. She quickly brushed away the wetness, but the burning still remained. She had missed so much. And now it was too late. There was nothing she could do.

They hurried through the Golden Hall, now empty and dark, not even a coal burning in the hearth before the throne and rushed outside into the brisk morning air. The sky was gray still and Mel could see just a faint glimmering of stars on the western horizon. But the east was already beginning to grow purple, the sun not far from rising. There was a lot of clatter and shouting and rushing about going on all through out the city as the people loaded up the last of their belongings and prepared to move out, heading for Dunharrow where they would await the return of the men from Helm's Deep. Mel didn't know how long it would take for word to reach them that the battle had been won. She hoped it was not too long. She knew that the king would first visit Isengard and then make his way slowly homewards. Aragorn would reach them first, but that would be days from now. Surely they would send messengers so that the people wouldn't worry. Surely...

They walked purposefully down the main road. Boromir had obviously been this way before. He hadn't been kidding last night when he had assured Eowyn that he knew his way. Mel could see people out of the corner of her eye look up at them, some of them turning to neighbors and gesturing and pointing. Mel wondered what they were saying.

_Oh look there goes that crazy woman who dresses like a man. She was sure a sight when they came in last night. She's lucky the Steward's son takes pity on her. It's not proper that they should be riding together..._ Mel didn't let her thoughts stray any farther than that and spent the remainder of the walk pointedly ignoring the people on the side of the road, concentrating only on what was straight in front of her.

There was a great cluster of activity up ahead. Men and women hurried to and fro tacking up horses and loading them with saddlebags and whatever they could carry, then leading them away, Mel assumed to their proper owners. They were at the stables. She kept one eye on Boromir's back and her other on all the commotion around her. It felt like gearing up to go to rodeo, only the atmosphere was much more somber. Boromir expertly maneuvered through the crowd gathered around the stable. Mel struggled to stay with him. Finally, he glanced back and, without a word, took hold of her hand and led her toward the large double doors. She immediately dropped her eyes, not wanting to see any odd or accusing looks that might be thrown her way. But privately she reveled in the warm tingling that crept into her hand at his touch.

Effortlessly they slipped into the stable. Mel's nose was suddenly flooded with familiar scents, leather, sweat and fresh hay. She took a deep breath as they walked, remembering pleasant summers riding with her uncle and her sisters when they were old enough. Slowly, Boromir led her to the back of the stable, winding through the crowd that got thinner and thinner the farther in they walked, until it was reduced to a scattering of stablehands.

They approached one of the stablehands, who was just finishing saddling up a huge black horse. The black fidgeted impatiently, tossing his head and stepping away from the man's patient fingers. He looked up and straightened at their approach.

"He's almost ready, my lord."

"I see." Boromir said, stepping forward and rubbing the giant's glossy black nose with his free hand, "Well met again, Deor."

The horse snorted and leaned into Boromir's hand. Mel just gaped.

"My god," she whispered, "He's beautiful."

And he was. He had to be almost seventeen hands high, broad and strong with the most beautiful pure black coat Mel had ever seen. Boromir turned to her and smiled, tugging her forward.

"Forgive me, I believe introductions are in order. Lady Melody, may I present Deor, a lord among horses."

"I can believe it." Mel said. She held out her hand and let Deor sniff her before she reached up slowly and scratched his forehead.

"He has seen me through many trials." Boromir murmured.

There was a slight pause. Then the stablehand cleared his throat. "Would the lady care to see her own steed?"

Mel smiled. "I'd love to."

She gave Deor a final scratch and followed the man to a stall across the aisle. He gestured inside.

"Meet Lady Brytta."

A beautiful gray stuck her head over the door and peered at Mel intensely as if sizing her up. Mel did the same. She was not as tall or broad as Deor, which was probably good because he was a monster, but she seemed just as energetic. The mare shook her head and snorted, then did a full turn in her stall as if letting Mel take a good look at her. Then she poked her head back over the door and eyed Mel as if to say, "Your turn."

Mel smiled and held up her hand. Brytta sniffed it delicately, then nudged it with her nose, nickering softly, a gesture that Mel assumed was approval. She reached up and scratched the mare's forelock.

"I was certain she would take to you." Mel turned and found the lady Eowyn smiling behind her, her hands on her hips. She wore a plain brown dress much like the one she'd had on last night. Mel wondered if it was in fact the same dress. Had the White Lady slept at all? If she hadn't, her expression wasn't giving her away. Her eyes flicked from the gray horse back to Mel. "I had a good feeling. I'm pleased to see that I was correct." She turned to Boromir, her tone now all business once again. "I trust you've found Deor to your liking, my lord."

Boromir inclined his head. "Of course, Lady Eowyn. I would expect nothing less of the Horse-lords."

"I instructed the cooks to load your saddlebags with enough for a week's journey, should you have need of it."

"You are too kind."

A small smile threatened to appear on Eowyn's lips again. "I simply take care of my guests." she said. Then the ghost smile disappeared. "I must go. Safe journey to you both. I hope you find your home in a better state than ours."

Boromir looked up and locked Mel with a piercing stare. "As do I."

Mel couldn't bear to look at him. She turned away and scratched Brytta between the ears. She hadn't told him everything. And he knew it. But she didn't think she had the heart to tell him now, now that so much had changed. Who knew what would happen when they reached the White City?

Eowyn didn't pause, perhaps too distracted by her own thoughts to notice what passed between Boromir and Mel. "Until we meet again." Mel glanced up, not wanting to be rude, but Eowyn had already turned and was making her way through the crowd, which seemed to part before her like the Red Sea.

"Well," said the stable hand, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Let's get you on your way then."

He reached across Mel and unlatched the stall door. He took hold of Brytta's reins and handed them to Mel, who led the mare out to stand alongside Deor. She was already fully tacked, but Mel took a minute to check her over and make sure nothing had slipped loose. She was keenly aware of Boromir watching her the entire time, a tiny smile on his face. It made her a little nervous. She had seen him go over Deor a moment ago so she knew that she wasn't committing some kind of social faux pas. So why did he look so damn amused?

The stable hand stayed just long enough to make sure that he was no longer needed then scurried away with a quick wish for a safe journey. Mel finished checking Brytta over, then she whipped around to face Boromir, her hands on her hips, trying to look annoyed. "And just what do you think is so funny?"

He shook his head, the smile still on his lips. "Nothing. It's nothing." Mel continued to give him her best 'I'm not buying it' look. He turned and started to adjust a strap on Deor's bridle. "I'm simply pleased to see that not all our ways are unfamiliar to you."

She smiled, "Well, like I said, I'm not totally useless."

"I never said you were anything of the sort."

Mel turned and kept her eyes on Brytta, running her hand down her neck. She had imagined just a hint of tenderness in the way he had said that and she had to take a moment to get a hold of herself and remember that she was being an idiot. She grabbed Brytta's reins and without waiting, led her through the dwindling throng and into the stable yard. She also didn't wait for Boromir before she mounted up. She was astride Brytta and waiting patiently when he appeared out of the crowd, leading an overly excited Deor. The black tossed his head and pawed the ground impatiently.

"I know, my lord, we're going." Boromir said, swinging into the saddle and holding the reins in tightly, "Can't let you go yet, you'll run someone down."

Deor tossed his head and snorted, as if to say that he didn't care in the least if he ran someone down. Brytta turned her head and stared at the giant fidgeting stallion. Then she snorted and turned away from him, standing still, prim and proper. Mel smiled and patted her neck.

"Atta girl. You show those rude boys how it's done."

"He isn't rude, he's simply impatient." Boromir said, but his eyes stayed on the stallion.

Mel smirked, "Patience is a virtue."

"One that neither he nor I seem to have much of." Boromir said, finally getting a firm hold on the horse, "Shall we, my lady?"

"I'm waiting on you." Mel said, still smirking, "You're the one who knows the way out of here."

Boromir laughed, then clicked his tongue and the horses walked down the dirt roads, winding through the almost deserted city, until they came to a small open gate, guarded by a pair of sentries. With a final salute, Boromir and Mel trotted out and onto the open plains just as the sun peeked out over the horizon.

--

"Victory! Victory!"

Legolas heard the cry go up from the king. He rode with the men of Rohan, routing the enemy into the valley of the Deeping Coomb, his arrows flying as fast as he could string them, his horse riding down those that were too slow to get out of his way. But then there was another cry and the company pulled to a halt.

"Stay out of the forest!" Eomer cried, cutting his horse in front of the men, "Keep away from the trees!"

_But there are no trees in Deeping Coomb._ Legolas thought. He nudged Arod forward, making his way between the men until he stood at the top of the ridge looking down into the valley. Then he saw it, a sea of trees where none had been before. His eyes widened. And then he smiled broadly.

"Mel…" he whispered. He started to urge Arod forward again, determined to find her, to make sure she was alright. But a hand on his arm stayed him.

"You will not find her there, Legolas." Gandalf's voice was kind, but firm. "She is no more the cause of this than I."

"But the trees." Legolas whispered, "Surely…"

"I told you to leave your feelings in the forest, Prince of Mirkwood." Gandalf said, keeping a hold on his arm, "I would give you the same advice again. She is no longer your concern."

"She will always be my concern." The words tumbled out of his mouth without thought or permission. But they were true. He knew it. He had always known it.

For a moment, Gandalf studied him carefully. Then the wizard smiled, but it seemed cheerless to Legolas and that frightened him. "That is what I feared. You have my sympathies, son of Thranduil. I fear that great sorrow lies in wait for you, sorrow the likes of which you have never known before."

Legolas felt as if he couldn't move, he could barely breathe, paralyzed by the fear that was growing inside of him. The wizard's eyes were deep pools of sadness. What did he mean? Had something happened to Mel? Would something happen to her?

Abruptly, Gandalf whirled Shadowfax and they melted back into the army of men, leaving Legolas reeling and terrified.

--

A/N: And there you have it! I even threw in a little bit of Legolas so you guys don't forget about him ;). And I'd just like to say that I know where I think my cut off point will be for Part Two of our little adventure! Yay, I'm so glad I figured it out, because I have seriously been agonizing over it. Obviously I'm not going to tell you *wink, wink* but I just wanted to let you all know I have a game plan! Yippee! Anyway, review and let me know what you think so far.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Ok, I'm sorry it's been taking me so long to update my story, I know that it's frustrating, but I'm working as fast as I can, I swear. I just don't want to crank out a chapter that I'm going to regret that I wrote later on. Anyway, so there's a lot of information packed into this sucker, but I tried not to be overwhelming. Thanks for being supportive and stick with me, I promise this story is going somewhere!

P.S. - If anyone knows how to keep paragraph indentations in documents that I upload from MS Word to fanfiction, please let me know. I used to be able to do it, but now nothing I try works. Thanks!

**Chapter 18**

For a while Boromir and Mel trotted in companionable silence along the wide road. Brytta was extremely well-behaved, keeping perfect pace with almost no effort from Mel at all. But Mel could tell that Deor was not happy with the current arrangement. He sidestepped and snorted and tossed his head in clear protest. And despite Boromir's efforts to conceal it from her, Mel could tell it was all he could do to keep the stallion under control. He was obviously wound up to the extreme and a leisurely trot was not his idea of a good time. Finally, Mel decided to take matters into her own hands. They were just cresting a hill and she could see a large rock formation in the distance, right in their path.

"So, are we staying on this road 'til we get to Gondor?" she asked, casually.

"The Old South Road is an almost straight path to the outpost at the Halifirien beacon. We'll leave Deor and Brytta there, spend the night and mount up with fresh horses in the morning."

"Well, we aren't gonna make it if we keep this up are we?" Mel said, as Deor danced to the side and almost bumped into Brytta who snorted in disapproval and stepped out of the way, "Tell you what, see those rocks out there?" Boromir glanced where she was pointing, "I'll race you."

Boromir shook his head as he reined in Deor, "I don't think that would be a wise decision."

"Aw come on, you afraid of losing?" Mel said, winking.

"I just don't think it would be wise for us to split up. This country is dangerous…"

"Man, I'm not saying we should race all the way to the mountains! It's not that far!"

"Melody…"

"Too late!" Then Mel let Brytta go. The mare shot forward, leaving Boromir's shouts of protest in the dust. Mel laughed. The wind whipped her hair and her clothes and she leaned over Brytta's neck, driving her faster. The mare's gait was so smooth she was practically gliding. Then, Mel heard the echoes of a second set of hooves. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Boromir riding after her, Deor obviously enjoying his sprint. They were gaining on them. Mel leaned down and whispered in Brytta's ear.

"Come on, baby, we can't let them win now!"

As if she had understood her, Brytta put on a second burst of speed. They raced up the hill and reached the cluster of stone. Mel pulled her up and cantered around the formation, making a full circle before Deor and Boromir reached them. She smiled broadly.

"I win." She said, "Better luck next time!"

But Boromir's face was a mask of stone. It wiped the smile off of her face. He maneuvered Deor until he was right next to her, then he grabbed her elbow. "Don't do that again." He murmured, his eyes burning with fury. It scared her.

She yanked her arm away, "It was just a stupid race, Boromir. Don't be such a sore loser." But instead of sounding angry or nonchalant, she sounded small and timid.

Boromir pulled Deor around and continued on the road. Mel followed and they rode in silence for a few moments, Mel keeping her head down, playing with bits of Brytta's mane. Finally, she heard a frustrated sigh. She looked up. Boromir was staring forward, but his face had softened.

"Forgive me, Melody. I did not mean to be so cross with you. But this is not a safe place anymore. If anything were to…" he trailed off for a moment, and then changed his sentence. "We shouldn't be separated, not even for a moment. It's dangerous."

Mel nodded, "Got it. It won't happen again."

There were just a few more seconds of silence. Then Boromir spoke again. "And besides, I did not lose."

Mel jerked her head up and stared at him, mouth agape. He was smiling. She laughed. "Oh whatever!" She yelled, "I totally beat you! I know you may not be used to the idea, but you lost, buddy!"

"You cheated." Boromir replied calmly. "You had a head start."

"It's not my fault you were slow out of the gate!"

"Your speaking oddities continue to fascinate me, Melody. I simply cannot wait to introduce you to Faramir."

"Now, you're going to make fun of how I talk?" Mel asked, "I thought you were nice."

There was an unusual pause. Mel glanced up. Boromir's face was expressionless. "So did I." He whispered.

Mel suddenly realized her mistake. "I didn't mean it, Boromir." She said quietly, "It was a joke, I swear."

Suddenly, his face brightened and he shook his head, "I know, Melody. Forgive me. My temper seems to be slightly erratic this morning." He turned and smiled at her, as if to prove to her that he was alright. She smiled back, but she still felt a little uneasy. Why was he so unsure of himself all of a sudden? What had gotten into him? Something had happened, something weird. And she didn't know if she would ever know what it was. But she didn't think she could handle walking on egg shells around him.

They trotted along in silence again for some time. Then Boromir spoke again, so completely out of the blue that Mel almost jumped. "I'm pleased to see that you weren't joking when you said you could ride. You sit the trot very well."

She turned and scrutinized him for a moment, trying to see if there was some kind of an angle to what he was saying. But he kept his eyes on the road. She shrugged and turned her own eyes back to the road. "Did you think I was lying? My uncle raised horses in Montana and my sisters and I went to rodeos all the time when I was a kid. We went everywhere and I won a couple of trophies and…" she glanced at Boromir and saw the perplexed look on his face, "And you have not the foggiest clue what I'm talking about."

He smiled, "However I have a long ride in which to learn. You know so much about me, Melody, but I know so little of you. If only there were a book that I could read that would tell me all about you, your history, your family, the things you do for enjoyment in your world. Like, how did you say it? Ro-day-oh?"

Mel laughed. "Oh my God, you have no idea how many people would say that you just pronounced that correctly where I come from!"

"However, I am assuming that I did not."

"Well, if you were talking about a street in L.A. then maybe, but since L.A. doesn't exist in this world, I'm going to assume not."

"Now you have me very confused. Is this an activity or a road?"

"Well, Rodeo Drive is a road in this huge, famous city. But a rodeo is a competition. A bunch of people with horses all get together and try to beat each other at contests. When we have some more time, I'll have to show you. I used to mop the floor with barrel-racing!"

"But you said that you have not ridden in many years. Why?"

Mel shrugged, "Well, you know, my uncle died and my aunt had to sell the ranch so that was it."

"I am very sorry."

Mel waved her hand at him, "Oh please that was a long time ago. It's just what happens."

"May I ask how he died?"

"Heart attack." She glanced up and saw that Boromir looked puzzled, "Sorry. His heart stopped. Sixty-seven years old and his heart just gave up on him."

"So he was quite young."

Mel looked up at him for a moment like he was crazy. Then she shook her head and chuckled. "Crap, I forget that you people live forever."

Now it was Boromir's turn to look at her like she was crazy. "Not forever, Melody. Only the Elves live forever."

Mel rolled her eyes. "I mean longer than I'm used to. Where I'm from sixty-seven is old, maybe not old enough to drop dead, but definitely old."

"I see." Boromir said. He turned his eyes back to the road. Then he asked, very casually, "And how old are you, Melody?"

"Oh no, we are not playing this game." Mel said, "I'm not telling you how old I am because I know how old you are and how long you people tend to live. Compared to normal people around here I'm probably an infant! I'm old enough to be considered a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of myself. We'll leave it at that."

"But that leaves me at a disadvantage. You know how old I am."

"You were born in 2978 so you're forty or forty-one, depending on whether you've had a birthday yet or not."

There was a slight pause. Mel took the time to quietly gloat to herself that she had the upper hand in the conversation. Then Boromir said, "I will be forty-one on the twenty-fifth of March."

And that was when Mel almost fell out of her saddle. Boromir noticed her falter and glanced at her. But all Mel could do was stare at him. The twenty-fifth? He couldn't be serious! THE twenty-fifth! The day that all hell would come crashing down was the same day Boromir was brought into the world! God, could the irony have been any more dumbfounding?

She finally got a hold of herself long enough to throw together a lousy excuse for her moment of silent awe, "Wow, that's like, less than a month away."

Boromir did not at all convinced, but he nodded anyway. "It is. But somehow, we have returned to talking about me and I would very much like to hear more about you."

Mel shrugged, "I'm not sure there's much I can tell you. To be perfectly honest, the last few months have really been the most exciting of my life and you've been there for all of that. Everything else kind of pales in comparison."

"Tell me about your sisters."

She grinned, "You mean The Twin Terrors?"

Boromir glanced at her, "They're twins?"

She nodded, "Yep. Couple of fifteen year old hooligans that tried to make my life a living hell. Could have wrung their necks more than once."

Boromir smiled, "Yes, siblings can be quite a handful."

Mel rolled her eyes. "Please, you have one. Multiply Faramir by at least four and you have an approximation of how bad Terri and Mattie are."

"When Faramir was young he and I got into a fair amount of trouble ourselves."

"Now those are some stories I would love to hear." Mel said eagerly, hoping that maybe he would launch into a long fascinating episode of memories.

But, it was not to be. Boromir smirked at her. "However, we are not discussing me right now. We are discussing you."

Mel sighed, "But I'm so boring!"

"You are not in the least bit boring to me, Melody." Mel rolled her eyes, but Boromir ignored her. "Where do you and your family live?"

She sighed. Apparently, there was no deterring him. She would just have to grin and bear it. "My family lives in this little town in the middle of nowhere. I live in a bigger city though, I like being in the middle of things."

There an almost unnoticeable pause. Then Boromir said a little coldly, "And how long have you been married?"

Mel started. "What?" she asked, confused beyond belief.

"You said you don't live with your family. I assume then that you are married."

Mel wondered if she was imagining things. Was he upset? There was no way he would be upset about that, even if it were true. What did it matter?

"No, Boromir. I'm not married. I live by myself."

He stared at her, all signs of distress suddenly evaporated, replaced by shock. "You live alone?" he asked, "What if something were to happen? Who would protect you?"

"I live in a…" she tried to think of a simple way to explain an apartment building, "in a building with a lot of other people. We have our own little rooms and kitchens and things, but we're all in the same building. I know a few of my neighbors and they're good people. I don't think anything would happen to me. Besides, lots of women live alone where I come from."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Mel could tell Boromir was trying to get his head around this concept. Finally, he just shook his head. "You come from a very strange place, Melody. It seems very unusual to me that your family would not continue to take care of you until you were married. Why would they put you out into the world alone?"

"Boromir, they didn't put me out. I moved out. I chose to leave and live by myself."

"Why would you do such a thing?" he asked.

"Because I wanted to know that I could." She said, "I wanted to know that I could take care of myself and be ok."

Boromir smiled and shook his head. "I suppose after all that I've seen of you, I should have expected something like that. You certainly don't adhere to traditional roles as I know them, Melody. But, if I know you, I expect that is precisely what you wanted to hear."

Mel smiled. "See? You don't need to hear about my boring old life. You already know me."

There was a moment of silence. Mel waited to see what Boromir's next question would be. When it didn't come she glanced over to see him staring at her with a strange, sad look in his eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"You must miss them very much."

At that precise moment, a homesick wave of tsunami-like proportions washed over Mel, knocking her breathless. She did. She did miss them, all of them, her mother, her father, her sisters, even her crazy neighbor who played jazz at two o'clock in the morning. She missed all of them. Her vision blurred and she turned away, wiping her eyes furiously to clear away the tears. The horses had slowed to a walk. She felt a hand on her arm.

"I am so very sorry, Melody." Boromir murmured gently.

She sniffed, "Its ok." She said, "I'll be alright. I just haven't really thought about it for awhile." That wasn't entirely true, but she didn't want to remember the last time she'd thought about her family. A shiver crawled down her back. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Then she turned and gave Boromir what she hoped was a radiant smile. "We need to keep up the pace, don't we?"

He didn't look entirely sure that she was ok, but he didn't argue either. They urged the horses back into a trot and continued along the road, Mel being careful to concentrate intently on anything that they happened to pass. That included a lot of grass, a few shrubs and the outline of the mountains in the distance. She worked to memorize the shape of the mountain range to keep her mind occupied.

It was a quiet ride for the rest of the morning. They stopped for a quick lunch a little after noon to let the horses rest and graze. When Mel dismounted she could already tell that she was going to be in pain the next day. She sighed and stretched her tense muscles as she reached in her saddle bag and grabbed an apple and a few pieces of jerky. She eyed the food with a hint of discontent.

"God I miss real food." She muttered as she settled into the grass, "Compared to this, that stew in Edoras was a banquet."

Boromir chuckled as he sat down beside her, "It does get a bit tiresome. But we'll have hot food tonight at Halfirien."

"So what's there anyway, I mean, besides the beacon?"

"The beacons are atop the mountains. But directly below each one is an outpost standing by with fresh horses for messengers. The men stationed there take turns climbing the mountain and watching for the light of the other beacon. Duty is rotated of course. Fresh men come from Minas Tirith regularly so no one need be too long away from their families."

"Have you ever done it?" Mel asked, "Worked at a beacon?"

Boromir nodded, "I was stationed at Erelas for three weeks. I stood with the beacon for five days." His eyes glazed over, "It's glorious up there." He whispered, "The clouds roll below you like a sea of billowing white linen. The sun gleams in the blue, clear sky above you, reflecting off the snow capped peaks, so bright you feel you might go blind. But you can't look away." He blinked and it was like he was returned to the present. He turned to Mel and smiled, "It's beautiful. Perhaps someday I'll take you up there."

Mel smiled and shook her head, "Is there anything you haven't done?" she asked.

It had been a joke, but Boromir answered immediately, "I have never sailed on the ocean."

Mel stared at him, shocked, "But, your mother was from Dol Amroth." She blurted, "All her family lives by the ocean."

"And when she died we stopped visiting." Boromir answered. He was suddenly very busy picking apart a loaf of bread. "I haven't been to Dol Amroth in over thirty years. My uncle and cousins come to Minas Tirith as ambassadors on occasion, but Father deemed it more important to keep my brother and I close to home, in case we were needed."

All Mel could say was, "Oh." It seemed so inadequate, but what could she say? Denethor had been really torn up about Finduilas's death. And she remembered reading somewhere that she always longed for the sea. Maybe Denethor blamed that for killing her and didn't want it to take his sons away. Irrational, true, but not impossible.

Boromir stood up and held out his hand to her. "Come, we must hurry if we are to be at Halfirien in time for that hot supper I spoke of."

Mel took his hand and he helped her up, "Is it much farther?" The mountains looked quite a bit closer and the ground around them was starting to get rocky.

"No. We should be there before nightfall." Boromir whistled and Deor and Brytta came trotting over. They quickly mounted up and were on their way in a matter of moments.

"Tell me more about your sisters." Boromir said, almost immediately after they set off.

Mel felt another stab of homesickness, but she steeled herself against it. Then she smiled, "I'm not going to get out of this am I?"

"We have spent so much time together and yet I feel I truly know so little about you, Melody." Boromir answered, "Is it so odd that I should be curious about who I am spending my time with?"

She sighed, "No, I guess not. But promise me that I will eventually get a turn at this. There's still a bunch of stuff I don't know about you."

"I promise I will answer any question you ask me tomorrow." He said. Mel smiled and he smiled back. Then he turned his eyes back to the road, "So, in what way are your sisters 'terrors'?"

--

A/N: For anyone who's curious and doesn't want to look it up, March 25th is the day the Ring is destroyed and Sauron falls. And I don't know if that is Boromir's real birthday or not (probably not) but it sounded cool. I also don't know if he ever sailed on the ocean or not. I'm going to be taking a little creative license as I go along, but I will try to tell you what I made up and what is fact. If you are ever confused, let me know in a review and I'll clear it up for you. Tell me what you think! Thanks!


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Looky there! A chapter is up and it hasn't even been a month! It IS possible! Anyway, this one is pretty long and was quite a bit easier to write for me. And good news! I already know how I want to start Chapter 20! This second installment is becoming much longer than I had originally thought it would be. That's actually good, it means I haven't run out of things to write about! And there is still quite a bit of discovery that's going to have to take place before we can begin Part Three. All of that just to say, stick around, I think you're going to be surprised the turn this story takes. On to the next chapter!

**Chapter 19**

The rest of the day Mel recounted every escapade of her sisters (and herself) from as far back as she could remember. Some of them were difficult to explain (she tried to describe a vacuum cleaner to Boromir and failed miserably), but most were pretty universal. She was having a great time making Boromir laugh. He had such a nice laugh, deep and easily provoked. And he had a nice smile…

But she quickly derailed that train of thought and launched into another tale of the twins involving her favorite jacket and a pair of toads.

She was having such a good time that she didn't notice how quickly the mountains were approaching. Her first clue was when a deep voice spoke in her head.

_"Welcome to the White Mountains, Calenhiril."_

She pulled Brytta to a halt and looked around for who had spoken. She spotted a large spreading oak to her right. She smiled.

_"Thank you very much."_

"What is it?" She jumped and turned back to Boromir, who had turned Deor around and was looking at her concerned.

"Oh, nothing, just being polite." She said, nodding toward the tree.

He glanced up, "You don't plan on stopping to be polite to all the other trees, do you?" he asked.

She laughed, "What other trees?"

Boromir pointed and she stopped laughing. A great forest spread before them, climbing a gentle slope almost to the very top. The sun was beginning to set and cast an orange glow over the mountain range. And Mel thought she could barely make out a wisp of smoke curling out of the trees a little distance from them.

She turned and caught Boromir grinning broadly, "Halfirien." He said, "Come, we'll miss supper!"

Deor broke into an easy canter and Brytta followed suit. They plunged into the forest and Mel was surrounded with the constant murmur of the trees. She let the sound wash over her, sighing in contentment. It was so nice to hear the trees again. When she was separated from them, she almost didn't notice. But when she was thrust into their midst again she suddenly realized that she had missed the steady chatter. She liked the trees. And they seemed to like her. Some of them called out to her and she smiled and answered back as best she could without slowing down. They were happy to have her in the forest with them. It made her happy to be there.

Soon Mel could distinguish a group of small buildings set in a small clearing at the edge of the slope and she saw the flicker of a campfire through the branches. The sun was steadily falling behind the mountains casting giant shadows over the tree covered foothills. The wind picked up slightly and Mel tugged her cloak closer around her.

Then a light voice whispered to her, _"Be careful, Calenhiril, they are following you."_

Immediately, she stopped and waved at Boromir to do the same, _"Who's following us?"_

_"The Wardens of the Beacon."_

"What is it?" Boromir asked.

"Shhh!" Mel replied. Her eyes darted to and fro through the shadows. "We're being followed." She whispered.

Boromir was immediately wary, his own eyes scanning the dusk, "Are you certain?" he whispered.

Then a loud voice echoed out of the forest around them, "Hail travelers from Rohan! What brings you to the White Mountains?"

They both turned toward the source of the voice, somewhere away to their right. Mel watched Boromir closely for any clue as to what they should do. He made eye contact and smiled at her, apparently in an attempt to reassure her. Then he turned his eyes back to the shadowed trees. He lifted a hand and spoke loudly.

"We seek to return to the land of our ancestors by the Old South Road. We are citizens of Gondor, and dwell in the city of Minas Tirith."

That wasn't entirely true since Mel had never actually _been_ to Gondor, but she felt that now was not the time to point out the error.

"You have a familiar voice, stranger." The mysterious voice said.

"Perhaps you know my father, Denethor, son of Ecthelion." Boromir proclaimed, "I am his first born, Boromir, Captain of the White Tower."

There was long pause. Then the voice spoke again, in an extremely straightforward tone, "Boromir is dead."

The declaration took Mel's breath away. They thought he was dead? How was that possible? The announcement had obviously shaken Boromir as well. He glanced at Mel, questioning with his eyes. But for once she was just as confused as he was. She shrugged and shook her head. He took a deep breath and composed himself. Then he turned back to the shadows.

"And yet I am come bearing the token of my house and station." He reached toward his belt.

"Stop!" the voice shouted and Boromir froze, "Know stranger, that we have arrows trained on you and your companion."

Mel felt the trees around her shudder and she quickly stilled them. While it was touching that they wanted to leap to her defense, she did not think that would be helpful right now.

"Should I not be given a chance to prove my case to you?" Boromir asked, "I reach only for the Horn of Gondor that you might see and believe."

There was another pause. Then the voice consented, "Proceed, but slowly."

Boromir reached down and grabbed the silver horn from his side and held it up, "Behold the Horn of the Stewards of Gondor!" Then he put it to his lips and blew a long blast. Mel instantly recognized it. She had heard it in Isengard running headlong into a group of orcs, the sound clear and powerful. It still made her pulse pound and her body quake.

The sound reverberated over the mountains and finally echoed away. There wasn't any sound for a few moments afterward. Mel swallowed. Maybe they hadn't liked that so much. Then she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around. A cloaked and hooded figure was approaching Boromir. Mel gripped Brytta's reins tightly, ready to turn and run at any moment. The figure slowly stepped closer and closer until he was within arm's length. Deor snorted, but he didn't move. Then the figure pushed back his hood and revealed a long face with wide dark eyes staring in awe at Boromir. Then he placed his right hand on his chest and bowed his head.

"My lord, forgive me. The news came from Minas Tirith just a few days ago, that you had…"

"It is forgotten." Boromir interrupted. He dismounted and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Right now all that I need is a warm fire, good food, and friendly company."

"Yes, my lord!" the man said, smiling, "I believe I can provide that."

"Excellent! Lead on, good Warden!"

Boromir took Deor's reins and Mel realized they would be walking the rest of the way. She quickly slid from the saddle, trying to remain unnoticed. But her legs were tired from the long ride and she stumbled when her feet hit the ground, catching the attention of the two men in front of her and several other Beacon Wardens that had suddenly materialized out of the trees. The one closest to her caught her arm.

"Hey there lad, watch your step."

Lad! The assumption that she was a boy was starting to get annoying. She glanced up at the open, smiling face of the Gondorian and involuntarily glared at him. Of course he instantly realized his mistake and looked appropriately shocked and ashamed.

"I'm so sorry, my lady!" he exclaimed, "I did not realize…"

She shrugged him off and lowered her eyes, pretending to straighten her cloak. "Yes, I know. It's the hair. Don't worry too much about it."

And of course when she spoke that drew everyone's attention. She tried to ignore it, making a show of turning to Brytta and pulling the reins over her head. Finally, Boromir came to her rescue, stepping beside her.

"Forgive me, friends, I have not introduced my companion." He said, taking her elbow and gently turning her to face everyone. "This is Melody Bernston of Rivendell. She has traveled with me for a very long while since then."

She noticed that the lie fell more easily from his tongue than it had previously. She looked up and managed a small smile at the men surrounding her. Most just nodded, a few smiled back, and a few more looked a little… shocked? Troubled? Mel couldn't find the right word to describe the looks on their faces, but there was definitely an awkward air to the group.

The man who had originally spoken stepped forward, "I am Elenion, third lieutenant in the army of Gondor. Come, supper is ready and waiting for us."

He turned and Boromir and Mel followed. But she noticed that most of the men turned and melted back into the trees in pairs. She guessed they were the night watch. Elenion led them through the darkening forest until they reached the small clearing that housed the Beacon Wardens of Halfirien. There were several small cabins built in a semi circle facing away from the mountain's slope and curving around the small cooking fire in the middle of the little clearing. A few men sat around the fire and they all turned to look when the three stepped into the circle.

Immediately, Elenion began giving orders, "Cristion, take the horses and tend them. Brilruin, see that separate chambers are made ready. The Lord Boromir and his guest will be staying with us tonight."

There was a minute of pause. Then suddenly all the men scrambled to their feet, saluting with the hand on the chest and bowing their heads. Then one man hurried off toward the cabins, while another, (unique because his hair was a bright red), hurried forward and took the horses from them, leading them to a lean-to on the opposite end of the clearing which held a few other horses already. The other men stood around the fire, frozen with indecision. Boromir returned their salute which seemed to put them at a bit more ease, but without Brytta standing beside her, Mel was now left to their full scrutiny. And she definitely felt a little awkward.

Elenion stepped into the circle, "Anaril, don't just stand there like a fool!" He exclaimed, good-naturedly, "Get our guests some dinner! And some for me while you're at it!"

One of the men started a little. Then he chuckled and grabbed a bowl, "Of course, sir."

While Anaril ladled out a delicious smelling stew and broke bread into it, Elenion took a seat among the men and gestured that they should do likewise. Mel wasn't sure what she should do. On the one hand, she wanted to stay as close to Boromir as possible. He was the only one she knew out of all these men and she felt extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand, the last thing she wanted was to look like a clingy, frightened woman. In the end she sat next to Boromir, but tried her best to keep a little bit of distance between them so they weren't touching. She took her bowl with a quiet smile and proceeded to try to disappear into the shadows as best she could without actually moving.

The sun had finally set and with it came an unusual quiet over the forest. Oh the trees were talking like mad, but as for the rest of the woodland noises, animals and such, there wasn't much at all. The whole place felt very solemn. And there was another feeling here, one that Mel couldn't quite place, but something she had felt before, a presence that felt almost like something from a dream. The men spoke in hushed tones to one another about daily happenings, orc activity, the rumors from the travelers of Rohan about the trouble there. But discussion turned inevitably homeward.

"There has been a great deal of darkness pass over our land since you left, my lord." Elenion said, "Easterlings pass through in droves, orcs harry the borders in Ithilien. Osgiliath is only held by a handful of men. The borders are in danger. It is good that you have come back to us at last."

"What do you mean by a handful of men?" Boromir asked, "I left Osgiliath fully armed."

"Yes, but Lord Denethor has been drawing men back into Minas Tirith steadily since your departure. He says that there will be enough, but…" Elenion seemed to suddenly realize who he was speaking to and hung his head, "But of course, we trust to your father's wisdom." He murmured.

Boromir did not seem to know what to say. He turned to Mel with that same questioning look in his eyes. Mel shrugged and looked back into her soup. She was still confused by the declaration of Boromir's death. How could they think Boromir was dead? There was no funeral boat, no horn cloven in two. What had sparked such a horrible rumor?

Elenion looked up and his eyes were shining now, "But, my lord, now that you have returned the people will be most cheered. A gloom has hovered over the land for a great while. Your father will be so pleased to see that you are well. Will you make haste early tomorrow?"

"Yes, we will leave shortly after dawn. I wish to visit Elendil's resting place before I depart."

Mel's head shot up, "Elendil?" she squeaked involuntarily. She immediately wished she had shown more restraint. All the men's attention was immediately directed at her. She felt herself blush and she dropped her eyes to her stew again, "Sorry."

"Do you know the story, Melody?" Boromir asked. She almost lied and said yes. She was so embarrassed. But she was too curious to let her embarrassment get the best of her. She shook her head without looking up, her cheeks burning red hot. She could just imagine all of them staring at her, shocked that she didn't know what ever it was that they obviously already knew.

"Well," Elenion said, pleasantly, "It is certainly the night for it. The Valar seem very present this evening."

Mel was encouraged by his tone and risked a glance up. Everyone seemed very relaxed. Elenion was leaning against a log, his legs stretched out. A few of the men had lit pipes. They were all waiting. Mel looked up at Boromir. He smiled at her.

"Alright then, I'll tell it. But I'm not a very good story-teller, mind you." Elenion, waved away his protests as if they were trivial.

"It's only right that the Steward's son tell it."

"Very well." Boromir leaned back and began, "During the War of the Last Alliance, Elendil the Faithful, King of Gondor fell defeating the very same Lord of the Darkness that we fight today. His son and heir, Isildur took his body to find a proper resting place. At that time the kingdom of Gondor was far-reaching, stretching much farther to the north, encompassing the kingdom that we now know as Rohan. Isildur drew up the boundaries of his kingdom and realized that the noble mountain of Eilenaer stood at the center of his realm. He therefore entombed his noble father on the top of that slope." Boromir pointed up the slope of the mountain, "And to protect him from desecration he called on the power of the Valar themselves to watch over this hill and forever guard it from evil. It was granted and it was then called Amon Anwar, for awe fell over the mountain and all that dwelt there. Even to this day, the awe remains, though the bones of Elendil have since been entombed in Gondor. And every King and Steward that has ruled in the King's stead, takes the one who is to be his heir to visit Amon Anwar, now Halfirien, to stand before the power of the Valar and be humbled by the greatness that has gone before us."

Boromir bowed his head for a moment and Mel just stared in astonishment up at the tree covered hill. Somewhere up there, Elendil had rested. Elendil, one of the greatest kings in the history of Gondor! She shivered. When she turned back, Boromir was smiling at her.

"And now you know the tale, Melody." He said.

"Thank you." She said.

"Lady Melody," Elenion said, sitting up and looking curiously at her, "You hail from Rivendell? I was sure they told the old stories often in Elrond's house."

Mel opened her mouth and then closed it. She had nothing to say. Luckily Boromir came to her rescue, laughing and clapping Elenion on the back.

"Come, Elenion, surely you can not expect her to remember all the tales they tell around those fires."

Elenion glanced up at Boromir and laughed too, but Mel could tell that it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was still a little suspicious of her. She was just glad that they were only staying the night. She turned back to her forgotten stew and finished it quickly, still thinking. What would she say when she got to Minas Tirith? Who knew how long she would be there. She couldn't just waltz in and expect no one to ask any questions. What about her family? They would expect her to have family and friends and know the history of where she came from and all of that! What was she going to do? Somehow she didn't think the "falling out of the sky" story was going to go over too well with these people. After all, from what she knew, the elves were just a little more open-minded. And she didn't want to spend all her time convincing people she was telling the truth. It was pointless anyway.

"I'll take that, my lady." A soft voice said. She glanced up. It was Anaril, smiling kindly. He seemed very young to be out here, maybe eighteen, much younger than the other men. She wondered if this was his first assignment. She smiled and handed him her bowl.

"Thank you. It was very good." She said.

His smile widened just a fraction and he nodded his head before he hurried away with the bowls. She sighed and straightened out her legs. She tried to suppress a grimace. Her muscles were seizing up. Fantastic. She was going to look like a great idiot trying to get off the ground. And sleeping was going to be very uncomfortable.

As if on cue, Elenion stood, "My Lord, you and Lady Melody must be very tired. Allow me to show you to your beds for the night."

Boromir nodded and stood. Luckily he remembered his manners and offered Melody his hand. She took it and if he noticed that she used his support just a little more than usual, he didn't let it show. They were led to a cabin on the far side of the encampment. When they got inside, Mel realized just how small it was. There were two rooms, each hold four beds each. Mel could see her bag on a bed in one room and Boromir's in another. Suddenly she realized something terrible. They were putting her in a room with four beds. And if she understood medieval manners, she would not be sharing the room. Which meant that three men were without a bed because of her. She felt awful.

"I don't really need the room." Mel said, suddenly, "I don't want anyone put out, you know, because of me. I can just, you know, sleep outside, or something. I would hate to be a bother."

She looked at their faces and instantly realized that it was a lost cause. Both of the men looked at her as if she were mad.

"Lady Melody, you needn't fear for our comfort, though the thought is kind of you." Elenion said, "Those beds belong to men who are on the night watch tonight. I assure you, no one is bothered by your presence."

"Oh." Mel said, her blush coming back, "Then, thank you."

"You are most welcome. A pleasant night to you both." Elenion nodded to Mel and saluted Boromir, before he walked back to the fireside.

Boromir turned to Mel, "If you need anything," he began.

Mel nodded, "I know where to find you."

Boromir paused for a moment. Then he nodded, as if he'd made up his mind, and turned into the other room, closing the door behind him. Mel sighed and did the same. Her legs hurt like hell, but she was exhausted. She had just enough energy to toss her bag on the floor and pull the covers over her before her eyelids fell closed and she slept.

--

A/N: There you go! Hope you liked it, let me know! I did a lot of research for this chapter, I hope it paid off.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: A new chapter already? I'm going to spoil you guys…  I already had an idea of what I would talk about in this chapter before I started so that explains it a little. And thank you for all the reviews. It's been awhile since I've said that and I've noticed that my reviews are so lovely, I love reading them, they always make me smile. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying my work! Anyway, on we go! And once again, if anyone knows how to keep paragraph indents from disappearing during uploading, please let me know. Thanks!

**Chapter 20**

_At first there was just darkness. Then a voice whispered out of the blackness._

_**"Calenhiril…"**_

_She knew that voice. She had heard it in her dreams. But it was so faint, as if calling from a distance._

_**"Melody Calenhiril, take care, danger lurks…"**_

_But as the voice faded away, the darkness took shape around her. The tower, the tower of Orthanc. There stood the pedestal in the center of the room containing the covered form of the palantir. Mel was shaking. The room was cold and she was so afraid. But she stepped up to the pedestal despite her fear. She reached out and lifted the cloth, even while her mind screamed for her to stop. The black orb pulsed in front of her. Then suddenly her mother's face appeared in its inky depths. She was smiling up at her. Then the smile turned to a soundless scream of horror. Flames sprang up and engulfed her. Mel screamed and reached out for her, but long, bony fingers grabbed her by the arms and held her back._

_"You will watch." the voice of Saruman hissed, "Watch as all that you love is destroyed."_

_Her sisters were next, floating out of the black stone, only to be swallowed by the destroying flames. Then her father. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She fought against Saruman's hands, screaming and crying, begging for their lives. The hobbits were burned as well, Gimli also. Then Legolas. She watched as his beautiful smile turned into a look of terror. He burned. She sobbed, sagging against the hands that held her up. All that she loved._

_"Not everything."Saruman whispered in her ear, "Not yet."_

_She looked up. Boromir was in the palantir._

_"No." she whispered, "Not him. He's already been saved."_

_"Has he?" the wizard taunted, "Do you really think the will of one woman can stand against the will of the Valar?"_

_She saw the flames licking around the edges of the ball, "No." she said, "You can't have him. Not him!"_

_She broke free with one hand and reached out to grab the palantir, to smash it to the floor. But when she touched it, her fingers were scorched. She screamed and tears streamed down her face, but she held on as tightly as she could. She wouldn't let go. She wouldn't let Boromir go. "NO!"_

She came awake screaming. The second she realized where she was, she shut her mouth. It was still dark outside. She hoped she hadn't…

There was a knock on the door, "Melody?" Boromir called, softly, "Are you alright?"

She sighed. Apparently, she HAD woken someone up. She swung out of bed and almost crashed onto the floor. Her whole body was so stiff and sore she didn't know if she could walk. But she managed to pull herself up, using the side of her bed and hobble to the door. She opened it, leaning on the door handle for support.

"I'm fine." She said to a very concerned looking Boromir, "Sorry I woke you."

"It was no trouble. I was…"

"Already awake?" she guessed. Once again he was shirtless and slightly disheveled. She grinned, "I can see that."

Boromir ran a hand through his hair, "Well, perhaps, 'preparing to wake' would be a more suitable turn of phrase in this instance."

"What time is it?" Mel asked. She didn't think she would be going back to sleep. Ever.

"It is a few hours still until dawn." He said. How he knew that Mel would never guess. "You had another nightmare."

Mel dropped her eyes and shrugged. She felt very uncomfortable. After all, compared to what Boromir must have gone through in his life her little near-death experience had to seem awfully trivial. And she was freaking out, while he was completely composed. She was embarrassed.

"Sorry, if I could stop them I would. Or at least the screaming part anyway. No need for you to keep losing sleep over my dreams."

"I would gladly give up sleep forever if it would erase the pain you've endured." He said.

She glanced up. He looked so upset. It made her forget her embarrassment for just a moment. She watched as his eyes flitted over her face. Then they stopped at a spot that was just above her eyes and his brow furrowed as if he were pondering something. He reached up and gently brushed her forehead with his thumb, the spot where Mel knew the dark purple scar marred her skin. She jerked her head from his touch, embarrassed by the ugliness that had inevitably drawn his attention. She dropped her eyes again, unable to look at him, to see the pity in his eyes. She didn't want his pity. If all he could think of her was _Poor sheltered little girl, weak and helpless _that would be the most embarrassing thing of all. And the most hurtful. It would break her heart. She would almost rather he didn't feel anything at all.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Melody." He murmured. She didn't hear a trace of condescension or pity. His tone was surprisingly matter of fact. "The scars you bear are tokens of a battle well-fought. Just because no one was there to see you receive them does not make them any less honorable. In the very fortress of evil you showed courage and strength, of that I have never had any doubt."

She hadn't felt strong or courageous. She had been exhausted, heart-broken and terrified. She could still feel the grip of the Uruk-Hai as he jerked her to her feet, the sharp pain as he kicked her head, the chill of her prison in Orthanc. She could still feel the searing pain as the Yavannacor was wrenched from her, she could see the light of furious madness in Saruman's eyes; feel the sharp crack as his staff landed her a blow to the head. She shivered and felt a tear slide unbidden down her cheek. A warm, rough thumb gently brushed it away.

"You need not hide from me." Boromir whispered, "I know that it is difficult. But I will help you if you will allow me."

Mel sniffed and nodded. Then he pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and let a few more tears fall. So much for her resolution to start putting some distance between them. Damn, why did everything have to be so difficult! Damn him and his understanding! Damn, damn and double damn!

Her inner cursing streak helped to pull her back together. She sniffed and carefully stepped out of his embrace. Then she looked him straight in the eye, "You want to know what I want?"

"Name it." He said.

"I want to hack at something with a sword."

Boromir smiled, "I will meet you here in fifteen minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, Mel realized that she was insane. She was in no state to hack at anything. Her entire body was aching. She met Boromir at the door, now fully dressed and with a gleam in his eye that only further confirmed that she would be nuts to try and wield a sword against him in her condition. Despite the little voice in her head begging her not to do this to herself, she smiled and followed Boromir outside. There were still the remnants of the cooking fire smoldering in the semi-circle. Boromir quickly grabbed a few sticks and stoked up the fire. Meanwhile, Mel pulled out her sword and gave it a few test swings. It was so heavy! She could feel that the balance was off in her swings. She was clumsy. It was driving her bonkers! She swung around and spun the sword a few times, a few jabs and slices. Everything just felt so off. She swung back around and was met with a clang. Boromir had caught her sword on the downswing and was now giving her a cocky grin.

"Not exactly an Elf-blade is it?"

He pushed her sword away and she stumbled back. Then he faced her properly. She crouched, fiercely resisting the urge to wince. Slowly they circled one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

"I promised I would never underestimate you again, Melody. I want you to know that I intend to keep my word." Boromir said. Then he lunged. Mel blocked him, but she felt that she was off-balance immediately. Damn sword! She danced backward out of the way of his second attack, close on the heels of the first. She righted herself and lunged back while he was still getting his bearings on her. Their swords clashed and he easily shook her off, coming back with a few straight-forward blows that Mel knew were meant to wear her down. And they were working. The heavy sword and her sore muscles were starting to take their toll. She ducked and spun under him, coming at him from the side. But he was so quick! He parried her blows and struck back. This time, Mel didn't see any way out of it. She blocked him for as long as she could, until she slammed her back into a tree. The jolt threw her off balance and Boromir pinned her to the tree, blocking any chance of escape. And he was impossibly close to her. Her heart fluttered and she was sure it wasn't the physical exercise. He was smiling down at her, waiting for the inevitable forfeit, his gray eyes danced. Then, his expression softened just a bit. And a crazy thought flew through Mel's head. If she leaned forward, just a few inches…

Then she brought herself to her senses and said the first thing that popped in her mind. "You still went easy on me." The words came out sounding a little breathless, but they had the effect she was looking for. Boromir smiled and backed up, letting her go free. She slipped away from the tree trunk and put a little distance between them before she looked him in the eye again.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Melody." He said.

She rolled her eyes, "Please, Boromir, if you had really been giving me everything you had, I'd have lasted two seconds. Trust me, I know."

Suddenly, she had a flash. Grey eyes, possessed by an evil light, and angry words spat at her. _"The men and women of Gondor mean nothing to you! Nothing! We are just meaningless pawns in this damned war, this fairy tale that you've created! I mean nothing to you!"_

She gasped and dropped her sword. It had been so vivid. Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists to hide it.

"Melody?" Boromir was looking at her, concern in those same grey eyes, eyes that were no longer possessed by madness. Kind, wonderful eyes. He was safe.

She was on the verge of running forward and throwing her arms around him in relief when a voice spoke behind her, "My lord?"

Mel jumped. But when she turned around, it was only Elenion.

"Forgive my intrusion, but you wished to be taken to Elendil's resting place before you left. It will take a bit of time to reach it and I imagine you wish to depart as soon as possible."

Boromir nodded and sheathed his sword, "I did. I am ready."

He took a few steps forward and then caught Mel's eye. She smiled. "I'll get everything ready while you're gone."

He smiled and lifted a hand. Mel got the impression that he was going to touch her face. But his hand hovered for a moment and then landed on her shoulder.

"This way, my lord." Elenion said. The two men turned and headed off into the forest. Mel smiled.

_"Make sure they don't get in any trouble."_ She joked to the trees. She heard a few chuckles and a few of the voices assured her they would be watched carefully.

She picked up her sword and wiped off the dirt. Then she sheathed it and headed back to her room to make sure all her things were packed. She also made sure the bed was made and that she left everything exactly as she had found it. She closed her door and started to walk to the next door to get Boromir's stuff, but when she put her hand on the door handle she suddenly thought better of it. After all, just because she got a room all to herself didn't mean that Boromir had. There could still be men asleep in there. She decided to let Boromir get his own stuff when he got back.

When she walked outside, the sky had lightened slightly even though there was still no hint of the sun and stars were sparkling overhead. She could see a man sitting next to the fire, taking out pans and utensils. She smiled. _Well, I might as well make myself useful._ She thought. She walked over and set her pack on the ground.

"Could you use a hand?" she asked. The man looked up and smiled. It was Anaril.

"Oh no, my lady, you needn't trouble yourself." He said quietly, "You have a long journey ahead of you."

"It's no trouble, it's the least I can do." She said, sitting down on a log beside him. She spotted a basket of potatoes, "Can I at least peel those for you?" she asked.

He glanced up and seemed to consider it. Then he pulled a small knife out of the pile of cooking ware and handed it to her. "If you wish."

She grabbed a potato and began carefully cutting away the skins. She had never done this with a knife before and the last thing she wanted to do was cut off a finger. She was about half way through her second potato when she got the feeling she was being watched. She glanced up and saw Anaril smiling down at her, clearly amused by something.

She smiled back, "What?"

He shook his head and started slicing an onion, "You peel like my little sister."

She didn't know how she should take that. "How old is your sister?"

"Nine."

Oh, so that's how it was. Mel shook her head and chuckled, "I'll admit, it's been a while since I peeled a potato."

"You're just so careful about it." He said, "It reminded me of home."

Mel looked up. He was still smiling. She let him be. But as she peeled, she started to think about her own sisters. She wondered how their first year of high school was going for them. They had always been able to make friends so easily, but homework had always been a problem. They were smart, but restless. She smiled, but she found herself holding back tears. She blinked and they cleared away.

She had gotten through about half the basket before Anaril decided to lend her a hand. He was twice as fast as she was and twice as efficient. He lost almost none of the potato in the peeling. Mel looked at her sad little potatoes, riddled with gouges and quite a bit of flesh still clinging to the skins on the ground. It was embarrassing. He diced up the potatoes and added them to a skillet over the fire with onions and mushrooms.

"You're good at this." Mel commented after a few minutes.

"I should be. My father is a cook in the Steward's kitchen. I grew up cooking."

"Wow, so you learned from the best!"

He grinned, "I most certainly did."

There was a pause. Mel thought maybe she should leave him alone, but she couldn't resist asking just one more question. Anaril seemed like an honest guy and she liked him.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, my lady."

"In Minas Tirith, are people…" she wasn't sure how she should phrase the question, "I mean, in the court, are the people, you know, snobby?" He looked at her inquisitively and she knew she'd used the wrong word. "I mean, do people look down on you if they don't know who you are? Are the rules really strict?"

He turned back to the skillet and seemed to consider her question very carefully. Finally he spoke, "If you mean, will they treat you badly when you come riding in with Lord Boromir out of nowhere, then I would say mostly no. I imagine you will be met with quite a bit of skepticism and curiosity, but I don't think anyone in the court would dare treat a guest of Lord Boromir with disrespect." He paused, but Mel could tell he had something else to say.

"What, Anaril? Tell me."

He glanced up at her, "I must warn you that your traveling together is rather unorthodox. There will be talk, most likely."

She sighed, "I thought that there might."

"But don't fret about it. There would be talk either way." He said, "You are a point of interest, a mortal that has lived among the elves, a woman who wields a sword and yet can't peel a potato. You mustn't worry about such things. On the whole, the people of Minas Tirith are kind and good. They will treat you well."

She smiled, "Thanks Anaril."

He smiled back and turned back to the skillet, taking out a spoonful and tasting it. He seemed to consider for a moment, then he grabbed another spoon and took another spoonful out, blowing on it, then handing it to her, "I don't know how done you like your potatoes, my lady. Try that."

She took the spoon and took a bite. The potatoes were nice and crunchy on the outside, perfectly tender on the inside and the onions and mushrooms were cooked to perfection. She nodded as she chewed.

"That's fantastic." She said. Anaril smiled and served her up a plate. She immediately dug in. Anaril continued to stir the skillet. When he saw her looking at him curiously, he shrugged.

"Brilruin likes his potatoes extra crispy."

"Is that hashed potatoes I smell?" Mel jumped and saw the red-head from last night pop his head out of one of the cabins, "Anaril, are those potatoes cooked right?"

"For a normal person, Brilruin. They still have a few minutes before they're burnt enough for you." He glanced at Mel and winked.

"Did you say hashed potatoes?" Another head poked out of a different cabin. Mel thought she recognized him from last night, but couldn't remember his name, "Save me a plate of the normal stuff, Anaril! Hey! Get out of bed you lazy trolls!" The man ran back inside his cabin, but she could hear muffled exclamations still emanating from it, presumably from the lazy trolls he was rousing.

"Better start plating up, Anaril." A man suddenly appeared out of the forest, "You know how Dunion feels about those potatoes."

Mel recognized him as the man who had caught her when she'd stumbled off her horse. He looked down and smiled at her, nodding his head respectfully.

"My lady, I trust you had a pleasant night's rest."

She noticed the special emphasis on the 'lady' and it made her smile, "Yes, thank you." It was just a polite little fib. After all, it could have been worse.

A full plate was shoved into the man's hand, "Best get it while it's hot, Hindur." Anaril said, gesturing in the direction of the second cabin, where several men, disheveled and possibly still half-asleep, were stumbling out toward the campfire.

Mel smiled and stood, handing Anaril her plate, "I'll get out of the way. Thanks again."

"Thank you, my lady." Anaril had just enough time to throw her a quick grin before he was assaulted by a camp full of hungry men. Mel quietly slipped away to the lean-to housing the horses.

There was already a man there giving a pretty palomino a good brushing. He glanced up when he heard her approach and immediately straightened and bowed, "My lady, I was just preparing the horses for your departure."

She smiled, "Did you need any help?"

He looked a bit shocked, "No, no my lady, you needn't trouble yourself."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Why does everyone assume that I'm troubling myself when I offer my help? If it was trouble, I wouldn't offer."

She picked up a brush and started where the man had left off, ignoring his stunned silence. Finally, he seemed to realize that she wasn't leaving. He turned to a blood bay and began the grooming process again. They both worked in silence. Mel was actually enjoying herself. She liked feeling close to the horse, the smell and the feel of the coat when you brought it up to a glistening shine. She was untangling the mane with a wide comb, when the man finally spoke again.

"His name is Lorindel." She turned around, but the man kept working as he spoke, "He's got quite a spirit in him. I hope you can handle it, my lady."

She turned back and kept untangling, "I've handled horses since I was young. I think I'll be alright."

"You do seem skilled at their care."

She smiled, "Thank you. So do you."

"My mother is from Edoras. She taught me respect for the horses."

She turned back around, surprised by the revelation, "You're Rohirric?"

Once again he didn't look up at her, just continued to work his way over the bay's coat, "My mother is Rohirric. My father is from Minas Tirith. I take after my father."

Mel could tell that was the end of the discussion. She went back to untangling Lorindel's mane in silence. But out of nowhere she was filled with an urgent worry for Boromir. She glanced outside. The sun had just begun to peek out through the trees. Hadn't Boromir said when they'd woken that it was a few hours before dawn? That meant they had been gone for hours already! She felt panic building in a knot in her chest. Where was he? And she thought she heard a whisper in her head, a strange familiar whisper.

_**"Melody Calenhiril… Danger lurks… Be watchful of him…"**_

But as suddenly as the feeling appeared, the rational part of her conjured a calming argument. After all, she had no idea how far Elendil's resting place was or how long he had intended to stay there. But as much as she repeated the argument, that worried knot would not entirely dissipate. So instead of worrying herself about it she decided to reach out to the trees.

_"They are well, Calenhiril." _A kind female voice chirped up, _"They were discussing something rather stressful, but I believe it has been resolved."_

_"Stressful? Like what?"_ Mel asked.

There was a pause, _"Perhaps it's best that I not discuss it. I mean no disrespect, Calenhiril, but it seemed rather private."_

Even though she was itching with curiosity, Mel figured it would be best to take the tree's word for it. If it was private, it was private. She didn't want to start using the trees as her little spies. She politely thanked her and started tacking up Lorindel with gear that the other man pointed out to her. But her mind inevitably circled back to that curious worry. What could be so private that the trees didn't want to tell her? What were they discussing up there? What was wrong?

--

Boromir watched the sun rise over the emerald hill, gleaming on the fresh dew. He was filled with the same humbling awe that he had felt nearly twenty years ago when his father had first brought him here. He knelt in the light and bowed his head, closing his eyes to fully absorb the power that flowed through this place.

_**"Boromir…"**_ Brilliant green eyes flashed before him. He gasped and his eyes snapped open. But there was such an urgency in the power that surrounded him. It was Yavanna. He shut his eyes again.

_**"Boromir, Son of Gondor, be watchful. You are not safe. Mandos has claimed your life. I am doing all I can, but you must be cautious."**_

_"Why are you coming to me?"_ He asked. _"Melody reclaimed the Yavannacor. She is yours once more."_

_**"Her mind… Her mind is surrounded by fear. I cannot reach her. Be watchful, Son of Gondor, be watchful!"**_

Then there was a pulse of raw power that knocked Boromir backward and she was gone. The glade felt strangely empty.

"My lord!" Elenion's cry brought him swiftly back to the present, "My lord, are you alright?"

He shook his head and chuckled, pushing himself to his feet. "I fell over. I must be wearier than I had thought."

But Elenion did not seem at all convinced. In a way that was a comforting sight. At least there was still one soldier in Gondor with some intelligence left to him. However, Boromir did not feel like going into specifics about his current and previous encounters with the Valar, especially considering his own initial skepticism. He chose to ignore Elenion's pointed looks.

"We should head back to the camp. Melody will have prepared everything and be wondering when I am returning."

Elenion nodded and they stepped out of the quiet clearing and into the trees. But the Warden did not stay silent for long. "My lord, may I speak freely with you?"

Inwardly, Boromir cringed. However his outward appearance remained open and friendly, "Of course."

"I do not believe that Lady Melody has been honest with us and it distresses me that you are traveling alone with her."

The statement fairly blindsided him. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly defensive of her and he had to take a deep breath to remain calm. "As much as I appreciate your concern, Elenion, I assure you, there is nothing to fear."

"I just find it odd that she claims to hail from the Lord Elrond's house, yet is not an elf, nor Dunedain. And she does not know our stories, stories I thought most were taught as children! When questioned she was skittish and fearful. She does not strike me as trustworthy and to be traveling alone with the Steward's son…"

"Are you accusing me of something, Lieutenant?" Boromir couldn't suppress the glare he threw Elenion. The young man was shocked silent for only a few seconds.

"No! No, of course not, my lord! I am simply concerned…"

"Warden, just because the full truth has been concealed from you does not mean that everyone is in the dark. I am aware of Melody's full history and when it is necessary that you become privy to that information, you will be the first to know. Until then I suggest that you trust the judgment of your superior officers, is that understood?"

For a split second Boromir actually thought Elenion might argue with him and he determined right then that if that should happen, he would be left with no choice but to beat the man's face in. Wisely, Elenion shut his mouth and simply nodded. Boromir put a hand on his shoulder.

"Good man. Now does your cook, Anaril, make a good breakfast?"

--

A/N: Wow, that chapter was much, MUCH longer than I had originally intended. Bonus for you guys! And just a warning, my next chapter may be a little while in coming. I'm going on vacation for a week, just a head's up. Let me know what you guys think, I always appreciate the feedback!


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Hey, I'm back! Did you miss me? Gonna start you out with some Legolas action before we move on (just to keep you on your toes). Enjoy!

**Chapter 21**

Legolas was uneasy. No, that wasn't true. He had been uneasy yesterday, when they had begun the journey to Isengard to parley with Saruman. But since he had woken this morning he had been more than uneasy. He was restless, edgy, and even moody. When Gimli had commented over the morning meal that he was more jumpy than a frog in a downpour, Legolas had nearly skewered him. Needless to say the ride afterward had been less than pleasant. And the closer they got to Orthanc, the more anxious he felt. He couldn't imagine what had come over him.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true either. He knew what was wrong with him. Mel. When last they had parted company with Boromir, Mel had been headed in a straight line for Orthanc, carted away by one of those monstrosities that Saruman had created. If Boromir had failed to catch up with them she would have gone straight to the slimy wizard for Eru knew what evil purpose. Even now the elf was mentally kicking himself for not going after her. And Gandalf's ominous riddles and meaningful glances of the last few days had done nothing to ease his worry. The wizard had even suggested that he stay behind! It was ridiculous and Legolas had told him so. He had every reason to go, not least of which the fact that he had started to feel physically sick with worry. If he didn't go and something had happened to her…

Suddenly, Gimli clapped him on the shoulder. "It'll be alright, lad. She had plenty on her side. I'm sure she's alright."

Legolas thought that maybe the dwarf wasn't just trying to convince him.

They moved slowly through the trees, trying to ignore the occasional menacing rumble and ominous creak. Gandalf was the only one of their group that didn't seem disturbed in the least. He and Shadowfax moved dutifully through the gloomy forest, picking their way over the occasional tree root or boulder, but moving steadily onward. Suddenly, a burst of laughter echoed through the trees and everyone's head turned toward the sound. It was oddly familiar laughter.

And when the group finally moved out of the woods, Legolas saw why and it made his heart glad. There sat Merry and Pippin on the broken walls of Isengard, a pipe in one hand and a mug in the other, surrounded by broken boxes and barrels and the remains of what looked like enough food to feed a small army. And they both looked absolutely giddy at the sight of them. Merry hopped up (or tried to, and in fact wobbled a bit before he righted himself) and bowed low at the waist.

"Welcome, my lords!" he proclaimed, "to Isengard!"

Legolas smiled, but he heard a loud huff of indignation from Gimli. "You young rascals!" he exclaimed. Pippin winked and nodded like it was a compliment. "A merry chase you've led us on! And now we find you drinking and… and smoking!" Legolas wondered if he was going to have to keep Gimli from leaping from Arod and throttling the two young hobbits.

But Pippin didn't seem in the least bit bothered. "We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well earned comforts." He informed them frankly. "The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork…" Legolas could have sworn that he heard Gimli's mouth watering. He smiled again.

"Hobbits…" Gandalf muttered.

Merry took over his speech again. "We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard." He said pointing in a general direction behind him.

For the first time, Legolas took a good look at what was now left of Isengard. The gates were thrown down and great puddles of water were everywhere, becoming progressively larger as they got closer to Orthanc, finally becoming a giant lake that surrounded the black tower. There was a lot of flotsam and jetsam floating about in the water, which seemed filthy itself. Legolas did not think that he would want to set foot in it except at dire need. And in the water a wonderful sight met his eyes. Great tree-like beings waded through the murky waters, throwing down structures and cleaning up messes as need be. Ents. There were Ents here! And if there were Ents…

"And where is Treebeard?" Gandalf asked, obviously growing weary of the hobbits' games, "Did he leave me no message, or has plate and bottle driven it from your mind?"

"And Melody?" Legolas added, "Surely where there are walking talking trees, she cannot be far away."

He ignored Gandalf's pointed look and instead stared at the little hobbits, while a mix of undying hope and overwhelming fear enveloped him.

"Mel!" Pippin exclaimed and his tone instantly eased the elf's heart, "She was here alright, her and Boromir. But I gotta tell you, she didn't look so great when we saw her, a little banged up to tell you the truth of it."

"Where is she now?" Legolas asked, eager to see her, to prove to himself once and for all that she was safe and to never let her out of his sight ever again.

"We don't know really." Merry said, "She was here when we came charging in about four days ago. But the next night they were gone, her and Boromir. Quickbeam said that he took them to Edoras."

Legolas didn't know what to think. Hadn't she known they were coming? Why didn't she wait for them? Or had something changed, something urgent that needed her attention? Did it have to do with Boromir? Somehow that seemed extremely possible. He was relieved that she had been alive and fairly well as of two or three days ago. He supposed that would have to suffice for now. However he was disturbed by Pippin's assessment of her condition. 'A little banged up' did not sit well with him. What had been done to her? If Saruman had laid as much as a claw on her…

"Meriadoc!" Gandalf exclaimed, "My time and patience grow short! What of Treebeard?"

"He left a message, I was coming to it!" Merry insisted indignantly, "I was to say that, if the Lord of the Mark and Gandalf will ride to the northern wall they will find Treebeard there and he will welcome them!"

The little hobbit seemed pleased with himself for remembering the message. Gandalf shook his head, but there was a shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Then that is where we shall go. Come, Master Hobbits, you shall ride with us and make sure we find our way."

Merry and Pippin immediately leapt down and found rides with the others, Pippin with Aragorn and Merry with Eomer. Then together the company made their way past the broken gates and into the treacherous swampland that was now Isengard. They didn't have to go far before one of the Ents noticed their arrival and sloshed across to greet them.

"Young Master Gandalf!" the Ent exclaimed, "I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

"How we will manage it I cannot tell, Treebeard, my old friend." Gandalf replied, "But we will talk a little while at least and see what comes of it."

The Ent nodded and stepped aside as the company continued forward toward Orthanc. They gathered around its base and then, they waited. A long silence followed. And in that time, Legolas previous anxiety threatened to turn itself into anger. This wizard had hurt Mel and in doing so, he had hurt him. He couldn't tolerate the horrible imaginings of what might have happened to her in the days when he was not there, protecting her as he should have been. And it was Saruman's fault.

"Show yourself, you coward!" he cried out at last, his hand gripping his bow with white knuckles.

"Be careful!" Gandalf snapped, "Even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it." Gimli suggested. Legolas thought it sounded like an excellent idea.

"No, we need him alive." Gandalf replied, "We need him to talk."

Then a silvery voice echoed from the top of the dark tower, "The elf speaks as one deeply wronged. May I ask what I've done to you to merit such ill will?"

Legolas glared up toward the top of the tower. There stood Saruman, his once white robes now a dirty gray, leaning on his staff like a helpless old man. Legolas's anger churned.

"You have harmed one who is dear to me." He answered, "I want to know why."

The wizard's head cocked to the side as he considered his words. Then he laughed, a cackle that echoed off the surrounding mountains. "You are Legolas!"

His name on Saruman's lips startled him. But the next words the wizard spoke surprised him even more. "Calenhiril spoke of you often in her madness." Calenhiril? Green Lady? Was that Mel? What madness?

"What purpose did you have for her? What did you do to her?"

"Let her tell you herself." Saruman answered, arrogantly, "Let her show herself and revel in her victory. She knew that her power would be useless to me. She sought to destroy me from the beginning! Bring her forward so that I may curse the day Yavanna dragged her into this world!"

Before anyone could blink, Legolas had strung an arrow and taken aim at the wizard. But Gandalf's voice cut through his blinding anger.

"No! Stay your hand Legolas Greenleaf!"

For a moment, the elf's hand trembled on the string. But slowly, he lowered his bow. Saruman's focus turned to Gandalf.

"What do you want Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess: the key of Orthanc, or perhaps the key of Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

Gandalf tried to reason with Saruman, but Legolas couldn't stop thinking about Mel. Saruman had called her by a name he was unfamiliar with. What did that mean? What did he know? What madness did he speak of? Oh how he wished that Mel had waited for him! He had traded his previous worries for new ones. He just hoped that Boromir was keeping true to his word.

--

Boromir had been very quiet since he'd come down from the mountain and that made Mel worry. She'd had such a strange feeling that something had happened up there and his silence only worked to prove to her that something was up. He barely spoke to her when he came down. She'd had the horses ready by the time he had eaten breakfast and after a few brief farewells they had headed out toward the next beacon, Calenhad. It was now past noon and Boromir had barely spoken a single word to her, even when they had stopped for a quick lunch. He seemed distracted and lost in his own thoughts, staring intently at an indistinct spot in the distance. She couldn't take it anymore!

"Penny for your thoughts." She said.

Boromir jumped and looked at her as if he had forgotten that she was there. "What?"

"It's an expression." She explained, "It means I want to know what you're thinking about so much I'm willing to pay for it."

He shook his head and looked away again. "My thoughts are not pleasant ones, Melody."

"Well it's gotta be better than complete silence!" she cried, "Come on, tell me."

He sighed, "I have been wondering about one thing mostly."

"And that is…?

"My death."

That hadn't been what she was expecting. She swallowed and looked away, avoiding his gaze, trying to detach herself. "What about it?"

"I would like to know… how it… how it should have occurred."

God, she had been afraid of that. "You were supposed to die, but you didn't. What else do you need to know?"

"Melody." His voice was so gentle that she couldn't help but glance his way. His eyes were pleading. "I only wish to know what you know. I wish to know if my death would have been honorable. I wish to know the quality of man I was when I died."

She paused. Then she looked away again, blinking back unexpected tears. "You were the highest quality." She whispered. Then she sighed, "Alright, I don't know what good this will do you, but I'll tell you." She took a deep breath. This was so odd, telling this to him. "You died at Amon Hen." He nodded, so she continued, "Actually, everything that happened in those hills was pretty much the same. You tried…" she paused, wondering if she could say it, "You tried to, um, well…"

"Take the Ring." He murmured, "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

She couldn't believe it was so easy for him to say. She nodded, "He still got away. He put on the Ring and kicked you and he got away."

Boromir bowed his head. "Then that is how it came to pass. The Halfling caused my death."

"No!" Mel cried, "No, that's not it at all! Frodo didn't kill you, that's crazy!"

Boromir raised his head to look at her, "But why would he not put an end to my treachery?"

"Because you're a good man, Boromir, that's why!" she exclaimed, suddenly so frustrated with him that she just about couldn't stand it, "I keep telling you and telling you and you aren't listening! Are you gonna let me tell this stupid story or what?"

Apparently shocked to silence by her sudden burst of outrage, Boromir nodded. Mel turned back to the road. It was easier to tell this if she didn't look at him. "Like I was saying, Frodo ran off and went into the Emyn Muil with Sam, just like now. You, however, tripped on a tree root and knocked some sense into your head. You were immediately filled with remorse and you…" she swallowed, not sure if this next bit would hurt his pride, "And, just so you know, I'm quoting here: 'For a while he was still as if his own curse had struck him down; then suddenly he wept.'"

She paused again, letting that sink in and at the same time, screwing up her courage for the really hard part. She risked a glance in Boromir's direction. He didn't seem affected too much by the notion of his crying. That was good, at least he wasn't gonna be sensitive about the whole thing. She decided to keep going.

"And then of course, you heard Merry and Pippin yelling." At that, his face seemed to brighten. "You ran after them and were met by those hundreds of orcs. And the three of you fought them so bravely. You blew your horn, and the others, Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli, they heard you and they tried to come to you, but they couldn't reach you. You fought and you fought. And then, they shot you." She could feel herself choke up, but she kept going, still not looking at him. If she looked at him she wouldn't be able to go on. "They shot you once in the chest. But you got up and you kept fighting. Then they shot you again, but you got up again." She felt a tear trickle down her cheek, "Then they shot you a third time. And that time… you didn't get up." She sniffed and brushed away the tears, "The orcs took Merry and Pippin and carried them off. Aragorn found you and you told him what happened. Then you…" She still hesitated, but she made herself say it, "Then you died. They put you in a boat with all your weapons and they set you afloat on the river Anduin. Somehow you made it over the falls of Rauros and floated down the river into Gondor. Faramir found your funeral boat and that's how they knew you were dead. Then you floated away to the sea. And that's it."

She paused and rubbed her eyes, wiping away the rest of her tears. Then she looked up. Boromir was staring at her, a strangely content look on his face.

"What?" she snapped. But her tone didn't seem to bother him at all.

"Has it always been this way for you? Have you always felt so strongly about this?" It was a completely serious question.

Mel chuckled, "When it came to you, yes."

"Why?"

She sighed and shook her head, "Because you never got the chance to live. You made that one horrible mistake and then you die. It just seems like a terrible way for fate to treat you."

"But, Melody, I was redeemed." She glanced at him and he was smiling, "I was redeemed in the end. That means everything."

He looked so happy, Mel couldn't help but smile, "Well, all the same, I think I like the story I'm living right now better than the one that I read."

They rode in silence for a little while longer. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees around them, when Mel received warning.

_"The Wardens are near, Calenhiril. They have spotted you."_

"Are we close to the beacon?" She asked Boromir.

He nodded absently, and then seemed to absorb the full impact of her words. He pulled his horse short and Mel did the same. Boromir glanced around the trees, eyes alert.

"They've seen us, haven't they?" he asked.

Mel nodded. "I told my friends to give me a little advance notice. They just spotted us."

And at that moment a loud voice echoed out of the forest, "Hail, strangers! What brings you along the Old South Road?"

The voice did not sound harsh or suspicious. In fact, he sounded quite friendly. Mel and Boromir glanced at each other and she could tell that he was thinking the same thing she was. It was a little odd.

Boromir gave his little speech, "We are travelers from Gondor seeking to return home by way of this road."

"And where do you reside in Gondor?"

"We hail from Minas Tirith." Boromir answered.

There was a pause. "I believe you hail from Minas Tirith, Lord Boromir of Gondor, but I'm told your companion does not."

This startled both of them. "I'm from Rivendell." Mel answered, surprised at her own boldness, but the voice still didn't seem hostile. More like the keeper of some magnificent joke. "How did you know that?"

Finally, a tall, green-clad figure emerged from the trees. "It is my business to know such things, Lady Melody. A rider preceded you in the night from Halfirien and told us that the Lord Boromir had returned." The man threw back his hood and smiled, "I would not have believed him had I not seen it for myself." He turned to Boromir and placed his hand over his chest, "Welcome to Calenhad, my lord."

--

A/N: Sorry it took a little while for me to get this out, but I hope you enjoyed it! I promise we'll hear more Boromir back story soon, maybe not next chapter, but soon!


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

After a hot meal, (though not quite as tasty as Anaril's cooking), the lead Warden of Calenhad, Taurenil, explained that they had sent a messenger of their own to Min-Rimmon, and the news of Boromir's return to Gondor would pass down the line in that fashion until it reached Minas Tirith and the Steward. They could rest assured that they were expected at every beacon along their way. Mel felt relieved by that. It meant that the Wardens would be prepared for the arrival of guests. A room had already been prepared for her and she was assured that it was no bother at all. In fact nothing seemed to be a bother here. The atmosphere was entirely different than Halfirien. At the previous beacon, everything had felt solemn, quiet and reflective. Hardly anyone ever spoke above a whisper. It was as if the Valar themselves resided in their midst and no one wished to disturb them.

And it seemed that Calenhad embraced all the fun that Halfirien was missing out on. The men joked and laughed, trading stories and pouring ale. And still Mel felt out of place. It wasn't that they were unkind to her. It was as if she had been invited to a boys' only club and they just didn't know what to do with her. So they simply talked around her. And it wasn't as if she had anything to add to the conversation, so she let them, simply listening and trying to smile and nod in the right places. Boromir had no trouble at all jumping in and telling his own stories, mostly about people and places she had never heard of. Eventually, she started to let her mind drift off to other things.

She thought about Legolas. At first it startled her how quickly he came to her mind. It had been some time since she had thought about him and she wondered where he was. She did some calculations in her head and realized that he and the others would be leaving Isengard tonight. She shivered. She hoped Merry and Pippin had told them that she was alright. But then again, maybe they hadn't asked. After all, Gandalf and Aragorn weren't exactly her biggest fans. She couldn't imagine the fit Gandalf would throw if he knew about Boromir. Or maybe he already knew. He probably did, in which case, she was screwed. She was going to get the ass-chewing of her life when he found her in Minas Tirith, she was sure of it.

The second she thought of a Minas Tirith ass-chewing Denethor came to mind. She finally had to admit that he made her nervous. Maybe she wasn't terrified yet, but she was definitely feeling the beginnings of a freak-out. He was a crazy man. And she was going to have to meet this crazy man, knowing he's a crazy man. And to top it off, no else had any idea exactly how crazy he was. She had no idea how he was going to react to his son coming home. Sure, everyone thought he would be thrilled to pieces, but would he? After all, he's crazy! Who knew what would happen? And not only that, Boromir was bringing some strange woman with him. If Denethor went off the deep end Mel had no idea what she would do. Or what Boromir would do for that matter. After all, it was his dad and he was the favorite son. His natural instinct would be to side with his father. Mel wasn't sure that was going to be a good thing.

Thwack!

Mel's head jerked up.

Thwack!

It looked as if the men had started a game while she had been staring off into space. A few of them were standing on the far side of the fire. Sitting on a barrel across from them was a box on which had been painted three concentric white circles, like a target, with a dot in the center. And embedded in the wood were two daggers, one close to the dot, and the other squarely in the second ring. The soldiers all watched as the next man gripped a third dagger and narrowed his eyes in concentration. He turned the blade over and over in his hand as if visualizing the turns it would make in the air.

Finally, one of the men shouted, "Oh come, Hurion! Just throw and be done with it!"

The other men guffawed at this, but Hurion only smiled, never taking his eyes from the box. Finally, he lifted his hand and, in what looked to Mel to be an almost careless gesture, he threw the knife. It whirled through the air and embedded itself squarely in the middle of the box with a satisfying thwack. The other men all seemed to find this hysterically funny. Well, all except for one, whose face seemed to be turning an interesting shade of furious red. But that could have just been the firelight.

A man shouted out, "Farothnil! Pay the man!"

The red-faced man jammed a fist into a pocket in his tunic and tossed Hurion a gold coin before he stomped off in the direction of the sleeping cabins. Everyone was still chuckling madly, even Boromir. Mel leaned over and whispered in his ear, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"He's not a very good loser, is he?"

Boromir shook his head. "No, Farothnil was never a very good loser. I served with him on a border patrol once and we would spend evenings playing cards. He never once paid up graciously. Of course he never expected the rest of us to pay up graciously either, even though we always did. He doesn't mean anything ill by it. He just has a very competitive nature." He finally looked her squarely in the face and suddenly he seemed concerned. "You've been very quiet this evening. Is everything alright?"

Mel forced her best smile onto her face. "Everything's fine. I'm just tired, I guess."

Boromir looked like he might call her bluff, but Taurenil happened to hear her and spoke up first.

"You're welcome to turn in for the evening, Lady Melody." He stood and brushed off his leggings. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

Mel smiled gratefully and followed the Warden to one of the small cabins at the farthest edge of the camp. The cabins at Calenhad were built to only house one small room each, large enough for four single beds and not much else. Mel's cabin was empty of course, her bags already deposited on one of the beds. She thanked Taurenil again for his hospitality and then he left, shutting the door softly behind him.

After he was gone, Mel realized she really was tired. She tossed her bag, her cloak and her sword onto the floor and crawled under the blankets. For a while she just lay there, staring up at the flickering light from the campfire that danced on the ceiling, listening to the indistinct chatter and laughter of the men, waiting for her eyes to drift closed and for sleep to overtake her. She tried to distinguish Boromir's voice in the noise, even though it was impossible to be sure of individual voices at this distance. She listened to the trees, whispering to each other, telling stories of older times, when the world was covered all in green and life was everywhere. And finally, as the last sounds of the campfire ceased and the light dulled to a weak glow, she was forced to admit that she was afraid. She was afraid to fall asleep.

As quietly as she could, she got up and wandered out of the building into the chill night. She shivered and sat by the smoldering fire. All the men were gone now, either standing watch or sleeping. Mel wrapped her arms around her knees and stared into the embers. It wasn't really the sleep she was afraid of. She was afraid of the inevitable nightmare, afraid of the fear itself.

She sat back and stared blankly into the night for a moment before she realized what she was staring at. The wooden box target sat just inside the dying glow, the three knives still embedded there, forgotten. The metal glimmered as a log cracked and fell into the embers, temporarily bringing the fire back to life. Mel got up and walked over to the target. How in the world had they gotten those things in there? Was it really that easy? Just a flick of the wrist and you were done?

Before she knew it, she had grabbed the handle of a dagger and yanked it out of the box. She pulled out the other two and took a few steps back. She stared at the target in the wood, holding the knife tightly in her hand, wiping away all other thoughts but the vision of the three circles surrounding that big white dot. Finally, she lifted her hand and she tossed the knife, as carelessly as she had seen Hurion do it.

There was a loud thunk and an earth-shattering clatter as the knife fell to the rocks underneath the box.

"Shit!" Mel squeaked as she scrambled over and snatched up the knife which had already fallen silent against the stones. She put her shoulder to the barrel that the box was sitting on and shoved it a little closer to the fire and away from the stones that had caused so much racket in the soundless night air. Then for reasons unknown, she walked back a few paces and lined up to throw again. She took a deep breath and cleared her thoughts, seeing only the target, feeling only the knife handle in her hand. Then she tossed. Another dull thunk, but at least this time when the knife tumbled to the ground, it landed in the dirt. She picked it up again and went back for her third try. Then her fourth. Then she lost count, concentrating instead on the target in front of her, the weight of the dagger, the speed and strength of her throws. She finally gave up on careless. Instead she tried to be as careful as possible. She still only got a dull thunk for her troubles.

Her arm was starting to get tired. But she just couldn't get it right! She lined up again for what felt like the millionth time. She stopped. She stared. She threw. Thunk.

"Damn it." she hissed, "Damn it to hell."

She walked forward and bent to retrieve the knife.

"It won't happen overnight, you know."

She sighed. It was Boromir's voice in the darkness. She wondered how long he had been watching her pathetic attempts. She put the knife on top of the box, and forced herself to look at him. Well, at least he was dressed, if only in undershirt and breeches.

"Did I wake you up again?" she asked, trying to keep a light-hearted tone to her voice, "And don't say you were already awake."

He smiled. "You didn't wake me. I woke on my own and I heard you." His face lost the smile and became concerned again. "Having trouble sleeping?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes to escape his shrewd gaze. "It's not the sleep that bothers me."

Boromir sighed and sat on one of the logs surrounding the fire. He reached out a hand for her. "Melody, come sit with me for a moment."

She needed to say no. She could feel some kind of meaningful conversation coming and she wasn't sure that was a good idea. After all, the more meaningful conversations they had, the more her heart would break when it ended abruptly in a few days. She was having a really hard time keeping any kind of distance between them. And he wasn't making it any easier, damn it!

But, at the moment she couldn't think of a legitimate way to get out of it. So she sat, but on the other side of the log from him, just barely within arm's reach, staring into the red coals as much as possible. Boromir did the same and for a moment there was complete silence. Mel tried to think up a way to excuse herself, but she couldn't come up with anything. Then Boromir spoke and she lost all interest in leaving.

"When my mother died, I lost a part of myself."

The subject shocked her. It was out of nowhere. She turned and stared at Boromir, but he just continued, staring into the embers.

"It was as if a part of my young soul had been ripped from me by the Valar. I was ruined and I blamed the greater powers. I felt sure I would never be whole again. And what was worse, I would lay in my bed at night, afraid. I was afraid because I didn't know when they might come again, what else they might take from me. I think it was the first time that I realized all the people I loved were vulnerable. No one would be spared, not even me. And I was terrified. I had horrific nightmares. My mother would come to me in my dreams only to be torn away, screaming my name, begging for help that I could not give her. Sometimes others would appear to comfort me and they too were taken from me. I would wake in the night screaming and crying, but I was so ashamed of my own weakness that I told no one. My brother was far too young and my father would be ashamed of me. I hid it well. No one suspected that anything might be wrong until I fell fast asleep during a Sindarin language lesson and woke up screaming. By that time I hadn't slept well in weeks, and not at all for two days."

He took a deep breath and finally looked at Mel. "I let it get out of hand, Melody. I was a child and I didn't know any better and I let my fear consume me." He reached out and took a firm hold on her hand. "I cannot tell you that I know how you feel. No one knows that but you. I can tell you that keeping it to yourself out of pride will do more harm than good."

She couldn't hold his gaze any longer or she was going to cry. She turned away and stared into the embers. Boromir waited just a few seconds longer, then he let go of her hand and stood.

"Whenever you are ready to talk, I will listen, without questions or judgment. All you have to do is come to me."

Mel listened as his footfalls faded into silence. Then she slid to the ground and wrapped her hands around her knees, staring into nothing, letting the pleasant chatter of the trees fill her mind. But her thoughts were struggling, fighting between her reason and her pride. She didn't remember falling asleep, but when the darkness lifted and she found herself in the dungeon, she knew. Even before the door creaked open, revealing a grinning wizard and a host of orcs, she knew. Then the nightmare began.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Suddenly, Saruman took her by the arms and shook her, his eyes glittering with rage._

"Lady Melody?"

_She tried to wrench herself away, but the grip became more firm, the shake more palpable._

"Lady Melody, wake up."

_"You can't save your friends. None of them! They'll all die and you with them! All because of you!"_

"NO!" she screamed, as her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, sending the Gondorian beside her sprawling onto his backside. He looked at her with a mixture of understanding and kindness.

"I'm sorry, my lady." He said, "I saw you sleeping when I returned from watch and I thought I might wake you before the others arrive."

Mel took a deep breath and looked around. It was still dark, but she thought she could see a faint lightening of the sky to the east. She had spent the whole night out here. She took a deep breath and ran her hands through her hair, trying to determine if there was any dirt or leaves stuck in it. That was one advantage of the short hair. It didn't take long to comb through it.

The soldier was watching her patiently. "You were dreaming."

It wasn't really a question, but Mel nodded anyway. "Yeah, I do that a lot lately."

The man smiled. "Many have seen dark times, my lady. You are not the only one who dreams of them."

Mel looked at him, shocked. He had said it so casually, so easily, as if it was a normal part of his life, nothing shameful or odd about it at all. He just continued to smile at her while he helped her to her feet. Mel winced. Now that she was standing she realized the worst consequence of her night in the great outdoors. She was sore as hell. The Gondorian looked sympathetic.

"I am afraid you are going to have a very uncomfortable ride today, Lady Melody."

"Yeah, no kidding." Mel quipped. Then she felt bad about it. She was just grouchy from her crappy sleep and she was taking it out on this guy who was only trying to be nice. "Sorry." She mumbled.

But he didn't seem bothered. His smile didn't even waver. "Breakfast will be ready soon, and then I'm sure you and Lord Boromir will want to be on your way. I will see that fresh horses are ready for you."

The man turned and headed for the shed with the horses, a spring in his step that Mel found almost repulsive. She limped in the other direction, convinced that these Calenhad bastards were just way too cheerful in the morning. They had to be on some kind of medieval drug that she didn't know about. She practically crawled into her little cabin and decided that the first thing she needed to do was stretch her muscles. That would help some. She sat down on the floor and proceeded to do a couple of stretches that she pulled from her foggy memories of high school gym class, half a lifetime ago. It was painful initially, but when she was done, she did feel better. She also felt more alert and ready to face the world. Then there was a knock at her door.

"Melody? Are you awake?"

It was Boromir. She had a flash of the conversation from last night and she shuddered. She certainly hoped he wasn't here to talk about that, not after she had worked so hard to put herself in a decent mood. She got up and answered the door. Boromir was already fully dressed and armed.

"Are we leaving already?" she asked, "We haven't even had breakfast."

He smiled. "No, we aren't leaving yet. However, I thought it might be prudent for me to continue your lessons in the sword, if only to keep you in practice."

On the inside, Mel groaned and her inner voice started screaming no and begging for mercy. On the outside, she grinned. "Sure, just let me get ready and I'll meet you out there in a minute."

After she shut the door, she groaned out loud. But despite her pessimism she knew it was a good idea. She kind of sucked with a sword anyway and this new sword from Rohan might as well have been made of lead. She needed the practice. Even if all she did was get her ass kicked, at least it was getting kicked by one of the best. Surely she could find some sliver of comfort in that. Unfortunately, that sliver of comfort was elusive this particular morning and she ended up dragging herself outside, lugging her sword with her. She swung it a few times as she walked; trying to find the balance that she knew was the key. Elladan had practically beaten that into her brain. Find the balance! Sometimes it seemed to be almost within her reach, but then her grip shifted and it disappeared. It frustrated her.

She looked around and spotted Boromir on the edge of the forest not far from her cabin. As she walked, she glanced around and stopped dead in her tracks. There were men sitting around the newly roaring campfire, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Mel felt self-consciousness explode in her gut and seep into every fiber of her being. She tried to stroll the last few feet to Boromir without drawing attention.

"There are people out here!" she hissed at him.

"Of course there are. We are at their camp." He said, drawing his sword and swinging it a few times.

"I am not going to humiliate myself in front of a bunch of guys I don't even know!" she said, still hissing.

Boromir grinned. "Melody, they won't be giving the least bit of consideration to us. And if you're paying attention, as you should be, then they will be no more than flies buzzing on a back wall."

"Easy for you to say. You know what you're doing." Mel huffed.

"And soon, so shall you, but you will never learn unless you practice. Now, are we going to stand around and waste the morning talking, or shall we begin?" He lifted his sword into position and waited patiently.

Finally, Mel sighed and raised her sword. Boromir grinned and without warning struck out. Mel blocked his thrust, but faltered and had to step back to catch her balance.

"You are thinking of the sword's weight as an obstacle to overcome." Boromir said, slowly circling around her, "But you must think of it differently. Think of it as an advantage, something you can use, only you have to discover how."

As he spoke, Mel watched him carefully. This was something Elladan had done in her previous lessons, using his tips to distract her from his actions. But what Boromir said intrigued her. How could she use the sword's weight as an advantage?

She didn't have a lot of time to ponder it, because Boromir swung at her. She blocked and he attacked again and again. Each time she blocked, but she didn't have an opportunity to strike herself. She was spending all her time trying to get back in balance. And she was wearing out. Her arms hurt and her back hurt and she was tired. Boromir bore down on her again and as his sword rushed toward her, something clicked. The weight of the sword! Her sword was heavier, if she could add that weight to her own, she could use it! At the last possible moment she sidestepped his rush and brought her sword down as hard as she could, letting gravity help her. She struck his sword just above the hilt, bringing the tip of it down to the ground, and then swung hers up to touch his neck. He grinned.

"Forfeit." He said.

Mel was about to ream him for letting her win when there was a whoop and a burst of applause. She lowered her sword and looked around her. Without her realizing it, the Wardens had gathered around them for their little fight and now they were clapping and cheering, with a few whistles thrown in for good measure. Mel could feel her face start to burn red. She whirled around and glared at Boromir, who was still grinning like an idiot.

"I thought you said no one would notice?" she said.

He shrugged and picked up his sword. "Who am I to deprive my people of a bit of fun?"

The men crowded in closer and started to chatter, talking about craftsmanship and sword-play and technicalities. But they all made certain to congratulate Mel on a splendid win, asking how long she had been working with the sword and offering tips when informed of her lack of experience, most of which Mel was sure she would never remember. All she really wanted to do was scream at Boromir. Not only had he LET her win, but he had done it in front of a large group of strangers. She wished she could just sink into the ground, but she couldn't do anything except nod and smile politely and bide her time. The second they were out of earshot of Calenhad, he was going to get it.

The rest of the morning went smoothly enough. Boromir said that because she had "won" the fight, he would prepare the horses while she ate breakfast and rested. So of course she was left to eat amidst a large group of men she didn't know, who couldn't seem to stop telling her how amazing it was that she had beaten Lord Boromir, and how unusual it was for a lady to even carry such a well-made sword (which, of course, was passed around for all to see) and how lucky she was to have Lord Boromir as a teacher. She smiled and nodded and agreed to everything that they said, thanking them for all their polite comments and assuring them that it was really nothing, a fluke.

"Don't let her fool you, men." Boromir said, appearing as if out of thin air. Mel glared at him, but he ignored her. "She's much tougher than you might suppose. This is not the first time I have been bested by her. When first I challenged her, she had me on my back in the dirt in mere moments."

That brought on a flurry of surprised exclamations that Mel was not in any way adequately prepared for. And Boromir kept going.

"And though she was gravely injured she fought bravely deep inside the Mines of Moria against more orcs than you could count. She even saved my life that day and other days since." He finally met her eyes. "There is much more to her than what you see, gentlemen."

The group was silent and they all looked at Mel, waiting for her response. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming swell of emotion. What a hell that had been. She remembered the heat and the blood and the screams of the dying orcs. She shivered and dropped her eyes.

"Those debts have been repaid. I was no braver than anyone else." She murmured.

Then she stood and strode out of the group. No one tried to stop her. They just made way for her in silent awe. She went to her cabin and shut the door, taking a long, deep breath, clearing her mind. She decided that she wasn't just going to chew Boromir out. She was going to kill him. With that in mind, she grabbed her bag and her cloak and went out again. Boromir was on the edge of the camp holding two horses, a black with a white blaze and a blue roan. He smiled at her and she returned the smile, but it was empty. She was furious. How dare he bring up Moria? Or any of it for that matter! He casually handed her the reins of the black, but she could tell he was finally aware of the fact that he might have crossed a line. His smile stayed firmly in place, but his eyes looked a little worried. She felt no sympathy for him. When they got out of here…

Taurenil stepped forward and wished them well, saluting Boromir and kissing Mel's hand. She was barely aware of anything that was said. She was too busy planning out exactly what she was going to say to Boromir when they were gone. It was something along the lines of 'You're an asshole', 'I hate you' and 'Never talk to me again' with several other names and expletives thrown in for good measure. She was aware that most of her tirade would likely be incomprehensible to him, but she was willing to take that chance.

Finally, they were able to go on their way. They trotted out through the trees in silence. Mel waited, biding her time, estimating when they might be out of earshot of camp. After what she deemed to be an appropriate length of time, she opened her mouth to let him have it, but Boromir beat her to the punch.

"You are angry with me."

He said it very calmly, stating a clear fact, but it threw Mel off balance. She hadn't expected him to speak first. She closed her mouth and just nodded, waiting to see what else he might say, what his pathetic excuses might be, if he even knew WHY she was angry.

"I embarrassed you. I am sorry for that. I was only trying to show you that those men were your friends, or could be if you let them."

"They were only being that way because they felt sorry for me." Mel quipped, "Anybody with eyes could see that you let me win that fight. I just wish you would have beaten me honestly, it would have been a little less awkward anyway."

"I let you win because you needed to learn something about your sword. It had nothing to do with those men. And they knew that. Anything they said to you was honest, I can assure you, not said out of pity. Women do not wield swords. Women do not fight. To those men, your simply holding the sword was a feat. The fact that you could handle it competently was extraordinary. You'll recall my own over confidence the first time you fought me."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, you're not doing a very good job." She grumbled, "I don't want them to think I'm just good for a girl! I just want to be good!"

"I know and you will be." Boromir said, smiling. "But you must have patience. And in the meantime, you shouldn't be ashamed of what you can do. Be content with being the best sword-maiden in Gondor, at least as far as I'm aware."

"And you didn't have to rub all that stuff in my face." She added, "The crap about me putting you on your ass and Moria and all that. It was like rubbing salt in my wounds."

"I am sorry for that. I was simply trying to help them see what I see." He turned and smiled at her. "Someone wonderful."

Ok, he was definitely scoring serious brownie points. Mel's anger meter suddenly dropped from volcanic to nonexistent. She smiled back. _Damn him._

Boromir turned back to the road, which was slowly coming out of the woods onto flat terrain. "Now, I want to pick up our pace. If we hurry we can make it to Erelas before nightfall."

"Erelas? Don't you mean Min-Rimmon?" Mel asked.

"There is not much distance between Calenhad, Min-Rimmon , and Erelas. It will take a day off our journey and I wish to reach Osgiliath as soon as possible."

"Osgiliath?" Mel was startled. He hadn't said anything about Osgiliath.

"I have been hearing troubling news about the border protection there. I wish to see the situation for myself. But we must hurry and this is the best opportunity to save time."

Mel gestured forward. "I'm following you. Lead the way."

Boromir wasted no time, breaking into a canter, Mel following close behind. But now she was worried. She knew how bad the situation was in Osgiliath. She also knew there was nothing Boromir could do about it. But if she told him the situation, including the fact that his brother was there, that would just make him even more determined to go. On the other hand, if she said nothing, he might be angry with her. After all, she had hidden so much. And she had promised that she would never hide anything about family. But did that mean she had to tell him about his father too? Suddenly, she realized that she was still in a bad position. What should she say and what should she keep to herself?

--

A/N: Alright guys, I know this chapter is a little shorter than some of the others I've written recently, but I think it's a good place to stop and let you breathe before we get some excitement going on in Chapter 24. I would also like to take this time to apologize in advance if the rest of this story is a little slow in coming. I've recently discovered this show on SyFy called "Sanctuary" and… well… let's just say I haven't forgotten about Melomir, but my muse is trying to drag me (kicking and screaming, I might add) in another direction temporarily. I'm fighting her with all my might, but it's like writing while trying to wade through a bog. Anyway, my next chapter should be fairly easy since I have it mostly planned out and maybe by the time I'm done with it my muse will have given up the fight. ;-P Wish me luck! And review please, I love hearing from you guys!


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I'm sooooo sorry you guys. I know I've taken forever getting this chapter up, but I have a couple of excuses. 1.) NaNoWriMo (if you don't know what that is, google it). 2.) My previous excuse having to do with my muse (please see the end of the previous chapter). 3.) My computer got a virus and I had to fix it. Anyway, I won't delay anymore, please enjoy!

**Chapter 24**

They stopped briefly at Min-Rimmon just before noon. They were greeted warmly and the Wardens insisted that they stay and have lunch. While they ate, Boromir explained that they were going on to Erelas that day. An uneasy pause followed.

"My lord, are you sure?" One of them asked, "There have been disturbing reports in this area of late. They say orcs run in the mountains close to Erelas."

"We will reach the safety of camp by nightfall, I can assure you." Boromir said, easily.

No one else questioned him, but their doubts made Mel nervous. Orcs in the mountains? That was the last thing she wanted to deal with. What if they didn't make it by nightfall? She hated to think what might happen if… She shivered and sipped her soup.

They ate quickly and were soon given fresh horses and sent on their way. Mel was still nervous about the orcs and she found herself glancing around, jumping at shadows. They were still on open plains. There were no trees that she could ask to give her warning. They had no cover, no defense. She suddenly wished desperately that they had just stayed in Min-Rimmon. At least there they weren't so utterly alone. She stayed as close to Boromir as possible. They kept up a furious pace through most of the afternoon, slowing down only for brief periods to rest the horses, but never stopping completely. Mel didn't speak to Boromir. He looked like his mind was occupied with other things. And it would have been difficult to keep up a conversation at the pace he set. So she was left alone with her fear and overactive imagination.

Slowly, the sun began to sink lower in the sky and Mel didn't see any sign of a camp. Her nerves started to tingle. They were too far away. They had to be. She should see something by now. A bird screeched and she jumped, her heart racing. Boromir glanced at her, but she waved him away. She tried to take solace in the fact that he still didn't seem worried, just distracted. That was good. Wasn't it? The sun sank lower still, the sky starting to turn a burnt orange. Mel thought she saw a grove of trees in the distance, nestled against the mountains. But there was still no sign of human life. It would be dark soon. The horses were tired; she could hear their labored breathing in the silence of the dusk. The shadows started playing tricks with her mind. She saw monsters in the dark. She tried to ignore them, tried to keep herself focused on Boromir, following him. She tried to keep herself from losing it.

But suddenly, Boromir pulled his horse to a halt. Mel followed suit, her heart in her throat. Why did he stop? What did he see? His eyes swept the orange-tinted mountains, scanning the boulders, the nooks, the crannies. Mel did the same. She jumped when she thought she saw a shadow move. But then it was still. She moved on. Another shadow skittered in her vision. Then it too disappeared. She was losing her mind, she was sure of it. She was about to ask Boromir what was wrong, just to break the silence, to keep from panicking.

Then a shrill screech split the air, followed by that horrifyingly familiar cackle. Boromir wheeled his horse around.

"Run!" He cried. Mel briefly saw a surge of movement from the shadows before she kicked her horse and together they made a mad dash for the woods. She kept her eyes on the forest, but she could see in her peripheral vision a group of shadows emerging out of the mountains, surging toward them, screaming and cackling in the night. They were so close.

_We'll never make it!_ She thought. The orcs were closing in, she could feel it. _We'll never make it!_

They ran as hard and as fast as they could. The trees were looming, Mel could feel their presence.

_"Run, Calenhiril! Run!"_ they screamed. She was so close….

Suddenly, her horse was jerked backward and gave an ear-piercing squeal. Mel screamed as she was flung to the ground. She rolled and tried to scramble to her feet and run to the safety of the trees. But she barely made it to her knees, before she was kicked in the side and flung onto her back. A big ugly orc grinned at her, sword poised over her throat.

"Well, won't you make a nice snack." He gurgled. Suddenly, Mel's mind started flashing. The orc was not just himself. He was Lurtz, he was the orc that carried her to Isengard, he was Saruman himself, he was every orc she had faced down in the bowels of Moria and a host of others that lay embedded in her subconscious. He was everything that she was afraid of. She flung her arms over her face and screamed.

Then the silver horn rang out, and a sword point exploded out of the orc's chest. He gurgled once then fell over dead. Boromir stood over her instead, reaching for her hand.

"Come on!" he urged. Mel grabbed his hand and he pulled her to her feet. As they ran for the forest, Boromir blew on the horn again. Mel's mind was still flashing backward uncontrollably. For a moment she was in Moria, then at Amon Hen, then Isengard. She ran almost blindly, Boromir's hand the only thing keeping her going in the right direction. She could hear Saruman's mad laughter mixed in with the cackle of the orcs.

Then, Boromir let go of her hand, "Run for the forest!" He ordered. Then he drew his sword and turned back toward the pack of orcs.

She was lost. She saw him, she heard the orcs, she heard the screaming of the trees, begging her to run, to come to them. But she was paralyzed. Her mind was whirling, she was frightened beyond movement and she was confused. Was this Isengard? Was it Moria? Where was she? What should she do?

Boromir ran his sword through two orcs, but a third caught him from behind and knocked his feet out from under him. He landed on his back and the orc raised its sword to run it through his throat. Mel was helpless, useless, paralyzed by terror.

Then there was a flash and a roll that sounded like thunder, though the skies were clear. And a woman's familiar voice sounded in the thunder.

_**"NOT YET!"**_

The orcs paused and skittered, and Mel cowered, hiding her face. Then she heard a twang and a thunk. She looked up. A black arrow had sprouted in the orc's chest. Boromir kicked him and he fell on his back, dead. Several more twangs sounded behind her and three more orcs stumbled and fell. Boromir jumped to his feet and ran to her, grabbing her hand again.

"Run!" He yelled, dragging her after him toward the trees.

She could see more arrows soaring out of the forest and she could hear the death screams of orcs behind her. But she focused on Boromir's hand, following him wherever he led her. Then finally they were in the woods, running through the trees. Mel could hear the rush of footfalls all around them, following them, but the sounds of orcs died away until it was nothing. And when she got the courage to look up, she could see the light of a fire burning brightly through the trees. Finally, they burst into a small clearing, housing the familiar sheds that served as homes for the Wardens of the Beacons.

They stumbled to a halt, several of the Wardens following them into the clearing, surrounding them, their faces grim and alert. Mel felt like she couldn't catch her breath. Her hands started to tremble and before she knew it her whole body was shaking. Boromir felt her reaction and quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and rubbing her arms.

"It's alright, Melody." He whispered into her hair, "It's alright now, we're safe. It's going to be alright."

But she knew that it wasn't really alright. She knew now more than ever, that something was seriously wrong with her. She had never felt that paralyzing fear in her life, not in Moria, not at Amon Hen, not in Isengard. She was so ashamed of herself. Boromir had been fighting for both of their lives and she hadn't even been able to determine where she was, much less fight. She buried her head in his shoulder, more out of humiliation than wanting his comfort. She couldn't bear to face the men who had saved her pathetic life. Boromir continued to whisper comforting words to her, but they fell on deaf ears. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong and Mel needed to do something to fix it and quickly.

Then she heard an unfamiliar voice. She pulled herself out of her melancholy long enough to listen to what he had to say, even though she still wouldn't look up.

"Lord Boromir, we were not expecting you for another day at least."

"I know." Boromir said, "I was trying to save a day's travel. Please, Warden, do you have anything to spare us for supper? All our supplies…"

"Come, my lord, we have plenty." The kind Warden said. He sounded like an older man, almost like Mel's uncle used to sound. Boromir never let go of her, only led her forward, toward the fire. Mel could see its light from the corner of her eye and feel its warmth. Boromir guided her to sit on a log by the fire, making sure to sit next to her, his arm still around her. Even though Mel felt that she had finally regained her senses, she didn't try to move away. After all, these men already saw her as a frightened, useless woman; there was no reason to try to act otherwise. She kept her head down, staring at her feet, the sick feeling of shame and worthlessness eating away at her.

When a bowl of soup was brought to her, she whispered only a single word of thanks as she took it, never looking up. How could she look these people in the eye? They had saved her and she hadn't done anything to even save herself. Boromir took a bowl for himself and that was the first time since they'd arrived that he was forced to move his arm from around her shoulders. She suddenly felt very much alone. She slid to the ground and pulled her knees up close to her chest, sipping her soup and staring into the fire. There was hushed conversation going on around her, but she couldn't distinguish words. It was like she was hearing it all through a fog. All she could think about was the fear and the anguish and the shame. Something was wrong with her. Why hadn't she done something? Why had she just stood there?

She didn't know how long she sat and stared into nothing, but at some point she realized that the camp had gone quiet. She risked a glance up and saw that the fire had died down considerably and there was no one out besides her and Boromir. He was sitting quietly beside her, staring into the fire as well. She turned and stared at him. The fire reflected off his face, which was smooth and thoughtful.

Then he spoke, "I'm sorry for what happened."

She jerked back, surprised. He was apologizing?  
"We should have never left Min-Rimmon. I knew the risk and I took it anyway. It was thoughtless and selfish of me." He looked down, staring at his hand, resting on his knee, "I just hope that someday you can forgive me." He whispered.

Mel didn't know what to say. It had never occurred to her that this might be Boromir's fault. It wasn't Boromir's fault! The very idea was ludicrous to her.

"If anyone should be apologizing, it's me." she muttered, turning her face back to the fire, "We almost died and I didn't do anything. I just stood there like an idiot."

"You were afraid…"

"That's not the point!" Mel snapped, clenching her fists. Then she relaxed and she felt tears come to her eyes, "Boromir?" She looked up at him and he met her eyes, "Boromir, I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to live with this anymore. I don't want to be afraid to go to sleep. I don't want to wonder what I'm gonna do the next time I'm in trouble." She sniffed and wiped her eyes, "You said that you'd listen when I was ready. Well, I'm as ready as I know how to be. I can't do this by myself."

There was a pause of only a moment. Then Boromir slowly reached out and traced the scar that ran across her forehead, "Tell me," he whispered, "Tell me what happened."

--

A/N: Yay! New chapter finally!!! I'm excited, are you excited? Good, onward and upward we go!


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Oh, my, God. It has been so long since I updated and I'm really sorry. I'm having financial difficulties right now, so I couldn't afford my internet, but now it's back and as a peace offering, I'm going to give you guys TWO chapters today! I'm really sorry about the wait, but I hope this will ease a bit of your pain for now. Enjoy!

**Chapter 25**

That night, Mel told him everything. She told him about her capture and the trek to Isengard. She told him about meeting Saruman, his claim that he would send her home in exchange for the Yavannacor and her refusal. She told him about her imprisonment, how Saruman took the ring from her and her sickness, her delirium. She talked him through all the pain, the anguish, the hopelessness that she had felt, feeling sure that she was going to die and that no one was coming for her. And while she talked she cried. She didn't sob uncontrollably, but tears ran down her cheeks and she let them. She didn't look at him. She was afraid to. She didn't want to see his reactions; if she did she might not be able to go on. She just kept talking until she had told him everything that had happened.

When she was finished, she felt as if she had been scrubbed with a wire brush on the inside. She felt raw and exposed, but clean and it felt good, better than she could have imagined. She didn't have to hide anymore; she didn't have to pretend that she was some tough girl. Because she wasn't. She knew that now. She wasn't some warrior princess, like Eowyn. She was just a lost, scared woman trying to get by in a world that was too grand for her. The admission hurt. She wanted to be a warrior princess, someone Boromir could be proud to know. But that wouldn't happen now. Now Boromir knew the truth. She was weak and helpless. She decided that she couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. She wiped her eyes and finally looked up at him.

--

As Melody had told her tale, Boromir had found his anger hard to control. The manipulation, the torture, the utter hopelessness of her capture was enough to make him see red. If he had known a fraction of what had been done to her, he would have killed the wizard while he'd had the chance and damn the consequences. But he kept himself silent and his reactions in check for her sake while her story unfolded. He could see that the telling was difficult for her. She kept her eyes on the fire's glow, tears glistening on her cheeks. He had the strong urge to brush them away, but he resisted. This was her cleansing. It was necessary for her to feel whole again. And he had promised that he would listen. So that's what he did. Even when she spoke of things he didn't understand, things she had seen in her dreams, he listened without question or comment. Then she spoke of his coming in a voice that surprised him with its gentleness.

"When you came for me, at first I thought it was him coming again, I thought surely he was going to kill me this time." She said softly, "Then I heard your voice and I thought it was a dream. Then I thought I was dead. I had to be, because you were dead and you couldn't really be there. But you were. You were there." She swallowed and looked down at her shoes. "And then you know the rest, probably better than I do because the next thing I remember clearly is waking up in the mountains."

Boromir wasn't sure how he should react. The sound of her voice when she had spoken of him had sparked a warm glow that spread through him, something that he had never felt before. It had been almost tender. No one had ever spoken of him that way. And he wasn't sure how he should respond.

Before he could think of something, Melody wiped the tears from her face and reluctantly turned and looked at him. His expression seemed to confuse her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, not accusing, just curious.

At first Boromir wasn't sure what she meant, "What were you expecting?"

"Pity, some lame sympathetic smile, thinly veiled disappointment."

The last one shocked him, "Disappointment? Why should I be disappointed?"

She turned back to the fire and chuckled, "Well, I haven't exactly handled this very well. I mean, I'm alive. I should be grateful, not cowering in a corner, licking my wounds."

She spoke callously, with the air of someone disappointed in themselves. Boromir ached when he heard her. How little she understood. She was one of the strongest people he knew and yet she felt so inadequate.

"Melody, look at me." She did as she was told, but he could tell it wasn't willingly. He took both her hands in his own. They were so small. He looked her straight in the eye. "Do you believe that I would be truthful with you, no matter the circumstances?"

He could see her searching his eyes, considering. Then she nodded.

"Then you must believe me when I say that you have shown more courage and strength than any other person I have ever known. You faced an evil that few have ever seen and you fought against it with everything you had. You were willing to give your life for those you love. There is no greater sacrifice." Another tear slipped down her cheek and this time Boromir did not resist the urge to wipe it away. His hand rested on her cheek, smooth and warm, "I am honored to call you my friend." He whispered, in a voice that he hadn't been aware he possessed, soft and tender. The sound of it startled him and he jerked his hand away.

Melody blinked and then dropped her eyes and scrambled to her feet, "You know, I'm pretty tired, I think I'll just go to bed now." She said.

The tone of her voice made Boromir sorry that he had said anything. He was sure he had upset her, even though he wasn't quite sure what he had done or why he had done it. All he knew was that he regretted the fact that she would no longer meet his eyes. She started to walk away from the fire, but before she had taken two steps out of the circle, she paused. Boromir felt his heart skip. Maybe she would come back. Maybe she would forget that he had said anything at all and just come sit with him again.

But she didn't even turn around, "Um, which way am I going?" she asked. Her voice was small and embarrassed.

Boromir stifled the urge to sigh with disappointment. He stood and touched her elbow briefly, "Follow me." he said.

He led her across the clearing to the little cabin that had been emptied for her. That was the only thing he didn't like about staying with the Beacon Wardens. Decorum and appearances dictated that they be separated. He wasn't able to keep a constant eye on her as he would have liked. He couldn't wake up and know, in a single glance, that she was safe. If she screamed he would hear, but he wasn't within arm's reach if she needed him. He hadn't said anything, but the last few nights he had startled awake and panicked because he couldn't remember where she was.

They were at the door now. It was slightly ajar and Boromir could see the six empty, perfectly made beds inside. Melody pulled away from him and put her hand on the doorknob.

"Well, thanks for letting me talk." She said.

He wanted to make her stay. He wanted to make her stand for just few more minutes with him. But he couldn't think of any reason why. So instead he took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.

"Sleep well, Melody." He whispered.

She just stood for a moment and stared at her hand in his. Then she blinked and shook her head as if she were coming out of a daze. "Thanks, maybe I will." She said, smiling.

Boromir smiled too, even though she still wouldn't look him in the eye and it hurt him. Why was she doing this? Why was she so distant? What had he done?

"Good night, Boromir." She said, quickly, before she slipped into the empty cabin and shut the door.

For a moment, Boromir stood outside that door and contemplated his options. Had it been anyone else he would have pounded on the door and demanded in the strongest terms possible that she explain her behavior immediately. But he felt certain that this particular approach would not yield the effect he desired. Melody would lock herself up tighter than the gates of Barad-dur if he tried to force her hand. No, once again, he would have to take a cue from his brother and practice a little patience. When she was ready to talk about what was bothering her, she would come to him, just as she had tonight. He had to wait for her to be ready. But just knowing that something still troubled her made him anxious. He put a hand on the door, willing her to speak to him.

"When you're ready, Melody," he whispered, "When you're ready, I'll be here."

--

Mel sat on the edge of the closest bed and stared at her hand. Then she reached up and gently brushed her cheek. It was silly to think that those touches had meant anything. Besides, he had jerked his hand away quickly enough. He hadn't meant to make her heart stutter and her breath catch in her throat. It hadn't meant anything. It _couldn't_ mean anything. No more than that he was her friend and he cared about her. In a purely platonic sense.

_"I am honored to call you my friend."_

God, even remembering his voice as he had spoken those words made her shiver. It was a voice she had heard only one other time, in Moria, calling her out of darkness.

_"Melody. Melody, wake up."_

He had listened. He cared enough to listen. For now that would have to be enough. She kicked off her boots and pulled herself into bed, crawling under the blanket. For the first night in what felt like an eternity, when she closed her eyes she didn't feel a pressing loneliness. When the dream began, she was afraid. She was in the hall of Isengard. She faced Saruman on his throne. Huddled behind her were her parents, her sisters, her friends, looking terrified. But this time she wasn't helpless. She was armed with her sword, the sword of the Rohirrim. And when she squared off to face the wizard, sword in hand, someone stepped up beside her. She glanced over. It was Boromir. He held his sword in one hand, his shield in the other. He stood shoulder to shoulder with her. Then he glanced at her and smiled.

_"You aren't alone anymore."_

Then, suddenly, the dream dissolved into darkness. Mel couldn't see anything, but she heard voices. And the first one she heard, the only one she recognized, was that of Yavanna.

_"She needs him!" the Valie cried, "If you had taken him now, she would have perished with him!"_

_ Mel felt her heart skip. Taken him?_

_ "It was foolish of you to interfere in my affairs to begin with, Yavanna." A man's voice rumbled, "Why you gave the girl a choice in the first place I will never understand. But your foolishness has upset the balance."_

_ "She had the right to choose, Mandos, just as all Illuvatar's children do." This was another woman's voice, a lighter voice, but it felt just as powerful. And the name Mandos made Mel shiver. She remembered that name. The name of the Valar presiding over the House of the Dead._

_ "This is not her place!" Mandos cried, his voice booming like an explosion. But he immediately seemed to regret his tone, "Forgive me, my lady Varda, but I speak the truth. I seek only to restore the song to its proper course in the swiftest way possible."_

_ "That may be." This was yet another voice, the voice of a man, powerful and calm, steady, "But we must tread carefully now, Mandos. Your actions, while justified, were not perhaps the wisest course."_

_ "So, Manwe, are we to continue to let him live?" Mandos asked, obviously holding back another burst of anger, "I am owed a life. Are not my requirements as important as the desires of my sister?"_

_ "Of course they are, brother." The other man, Manwe, chided gently._

_ But Mandos wasn't finished, "If Yavanna places so much trust in the choices of her daughter, perhaps she should be given the privilege of another. I am owed a life. It is not necessary that it be the Son of Gondor. Have her choose another to take his place."_

_ There were several cries of outrage. Mel suddenly felt ill._

_ "You would place this in the hands of a child?" Yavanna cried, "How can you ask this of her?"_

_ "You gave her the power to choose life." Mandos said, the only calm voice, "I am simply giving her that choice again. She may choose life for the Son of Gondor and death for another, or death for him and life for another. A life for a life."_

_ "Have you no heart, Mandos?" Yavanna cried._

_ "Quiet." Manwe spoke and even though he never raised his voice, his tone brought silence, "The matter is delicate. We shall discuss it further. But for now we will let it rest until our tempers are settled."_

_ That seemed to end the discussion. Even though Mel couldn't see anything, she had a sense of the Valar exiting quietly. But the dream, if you could call it that, continued. And she could feel the presence of one left in the room. There was a sigh. It sounded like a breeze blowing through the leaves of the trees and she knew it was Yavanna._

_ "Oh my dear girl," She whispered, "Dear, precious child. I am sorry that this must be placed on you. I am truly sorry."_

Mel sat straight up in bed, her eyes wide. She caught her breath and her heart stuttered then settled. She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep slow breath. She could save him. Again. But it would mean that someone else had to die. To save the man she loved, she would have to kill someone else.

--

A/N: Dun, dun, DUN!!! Ok, that's all, on to the next chapter.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: So here is your second chapter, reward for waiting soooo long for me to update. I don't know when I will update again, but I will try my hardest to make it as soon as possible, I promise. Please be patient with me, the chapters are becoming increasingly hard for me to write.

--

**Chapter 26**

Mel saw the faintest hint of sunlight peeking through the window above her bed. She sighed and swung out of bed, still feeling a little nauseous from her dream. Or vision. Because it had been real, she had never even considered that it wasn't. Yavanna had saved Boromir's life last night and Mandos was pissed. That was the one consequence Mel had not considered when she had made the choice to try to save Boromir's life. It had not even occurred to her that the Valar might not like what she had done, or that Yavanna might have acted without the consent of her siblings.

_"Calenhiril?"_

The tree's slight, trembling voice jerked Mel out of her thoughts.

_"The Son of Gondor comes."_

As if on cue, there was a faint knock on her door. If she hadn't already been awake, she probably wouldn't have heard it. She padded over to the door and opened it. Boromir stood there, dressed and ready as always. But he seemed quiet and reserved this morning, almost self-conscious.

"I hope I didn't wake you." He said softly.

She thought back to that unobtrusive knock and she rolled her eyes, "With a knock like that you couldn't have woke up anyone." She teased.

Suddenly, as if he had been waiting for her to speak, a broad smile spread across his face and his eyes lit up. And at that moment, Mel thought that she could kill for him. The thought was fleeting and she immediately felt guilty about it, but it was there.

"I thought if you were awake we might continue your sword lessons." He said, "In private, of course."

Mel smiled and nodded, "Sure, give me a few minutes."

She started to close the door, but Boromir put a hand out and stopped her, "Melody?"

She looked up and his face was serious.

"How did you sleep?"

At first she didn't know what to say. _'Oh fine, except that I found out that we've royally pissed off the Valar and now I may have to kill someone to save your life because I love you.'_ Somehow, that just didn't have the ring of something that she wanted to discuss with him right now. Or ever. But then she remembered the dream she'd had before the vision. And that wonderful feeling of not being alone. She smiled.

"Better." She said, "Much better."

His face instantly relaxed into a pleased smile. He nodded, "I will wait for you outside."

Then he turned and strode off. Mel closed the door and got herself ready, pulling on her boots and straightening her clothes. She was starting to feel grimy and suddenly she couldn't wait to get to Minas Tirith and take a bath and get some clean clothes. But at the same time, Minas Tirith made her shiver. Denethor suddenly loomed large in her mind. She was sure that he knew by now that his oldest son was coming home. She wondered what that had done to his demeanor. And did Faramir know? Would he be expecting his brother to come to Osgiliath? Now that Mel knew the Valar were gunning for him, she wanted to keep Boromir as far from Osgiliath as possible. It was the worst place he could be. But what could she say? If she told him it was too dangerous, he would go anyway because that's just who he was. He laughed in the face of danger. On the other hand, if she told him everything was fine, he would eventually find out that she had lied to him and he might never forgive her. Still, was that such a large price to pay if it kept him alive a little longer?

She came outside thoroughly distracted. Boromir was waiting just outside her door. She tried to clear her mind and relax her face. He didn't seem to notice. He smiled and led the way to a little clearing just a few steps into the trees. The grass was cropped short. Maybe the Wardens let the horses graze here.

"I thought we might work on your footwork today." Boromir said.

Mel nodded, "Ok."

They drew their swords, but instead of starting a full-blown fight, he started out slow, working her through basic moves and watching her foot placement, correcting her when necessary. Which was often. Mel tried to focus on what she was doing, but her thoughts kept wandering. The slow pace made it difficult for her to keep her mind where she was. She kept thinking about the dream and Osgiliath. What was she going to do?

Suddenly, she tripped and toppled backward on her butt. Boromir was standing over her, looking concerned and possibly a trifle amused, but if he was he kept it to himself.

"You see? You can't put left over right like that or you'll get tangled up." He gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet, "Are you alright?"

She brushed off the seat of her pants, "Nothing hurt but my pride, I guess." Her arms were killing her, but she wasn't going to say anything about that. It was all the slow motion with that heavy sword.

He smiled and put up his sword, "Again, and mind your feet this time."

They went a little faster and Mel doubled her efforts to pay attention. When they were through, she actually felt that she might have learned something and it felt good. It had been a long time since she'd had a proper lesson, back in Rivendell with Elladan. Thinking of the elf, made her think of the other elf in her life. She wondered what Legolas was doing now. She figured it up while they ate breakfast and finally decided that it was the seventh of March. At some point, either yesterday or today sometime, she couldn't quite remember, the two elves in her life were going to meet up. Elladan and Elrohir rode with the Dunedain out of Rivendell. Together they and the Three Hunters would take the Paths of the Dead. She shivered. That was one place she was glad she would never have to visit. But at the same time, she missed them. She missed the hobbits too. She knew they would be alright, but she missed their sweet innocent faces. That was something she would never get back. This was going to change them forever and it made her kind of sad.

A single stray sentence from one of the Warden's conversations cut into her thoughts.

"Did you hear that strange thunder last night?"

She jerked and looked up. Two men were sitting next to her and Boromir, eating and talking away.

The other man nodded, "Aye. Not a cloud in the sky, but I could've sworn I heard something. Strange and unnatural. But then, we live in strange and unnatural times now."

Mel glanced back at Boromir, sitting on the other side of her. He was staring at the men, but he glanced down to meet her eyes. Mel wondered if she was the only one who had heard Yavanna's voice. Had everyone else just heard thunder?

Mel leaned toward Boromir and lowered her voice, "Did you hear her?"

Boromir nodded, "Not yet."

Those two words were all the confirmation she needed. But it was so strange to her. Why had Boromir heard the voice and not the other men? She figured that she had heard it simply because she was the Calenhiril. But what was Boromir's connection? Was it simply because he was alive when he should be dead? That seemed unlikely. Mel thought maybe she would ask his opinion later. After all, he was probably more familiar with the Valar than she was.

In what felt like no time at all, they were fully outfitted with fresh provisions and fresh horses and they were on their way again. In the bright sunlight of morning, last night's events seemed distant, almost like one of her nightmares. But still, she put the trees on alert until they left the safety of the woods. And when they passed the last of the trees, she felt just a twinge of uneasiness. But Boromir seemed in no hurry today. They ambled along at a moderate speed.

"I thought we were in some kind of a hurry." Mel said.

Boromir shook his head, "No longer, Melody. We could not possibly cover the distance between the next two beacons in a single day. I see no reason to tire the horses or ourselves unnecessarily."

Since it seemed they were going to be keeping up this pace for the rest of the day, Mel thought she should maybe fill it with conversation. But she didn't know quite where she should start. So she picked up the easiest and most recent subject.

"So you heard Yavanna last night?" she asked.

He nodded, "I did."

"Why is that, do you think?"

Boromir shrugged, "Perhaps she simply deemed it necessary that I hear."

"But why? Why now? I mean, I have the Yavannacor, so I figure that's why I heard it. But why just you and no one else?"

There was a pause. Boromir seemed to be considering something very carefully. And then something else occurred to Mel.

"And for that matter, how did you know it was her?"

He started and then glanced at her, "What do you mean?"

The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed, "I said it was Yavanna and you didn't seem surprised at all. How did you know it was her?"

Boromir seemed reluctant to answer. Suddenly, it was so clear to her. "She's talked to you before, hasn't she?"

He sighed like a man defeated, "Yes, she's spoken to me."

Mel was shocked, "When?"

"The first time was several days ago, before I came to Isengard."

"Wait a minute. What do you mean 'the first time'? She's talked to you more than once?"

Boromir nodded, "She's come to me in a few of my dreams."

"And you never told me?" Mel asked, completely stunned. Yavanna had been speaking to him all this time and she didn't even know it!

"At first, I didn't believe it. I don't put much stock in dreams."

"But a dream is the reason you went to Rivendell in the first place."

"And were it not for my brother having the same dream, I might never have gone. Most people put more faith in dreams than I. I believe in things that are tangible, things I can feel and see. It is difficult for me to accept anything else."  
"But you believe now?"

Boromir glanced at her, "I have seen too much not to believe."

"Well, what did she say?" Mel asked. What could Yavanna possibly have had to say to Boromir? Did he know his life was threatened? Surely not or he wouldn't be plunging into danger like this, right?

Boromir paused for a moment, "She has been very concerned for you." He said, "First, for obvious reasons, your rescue was her main concern. Afterwards she spoke to me of your fear, how it hindered her from communicating with you." He glanced at Mel, "So I suppose she has spoken to you before as well."

Mel turned her head and concentrated on the road. She didn't want to talk about that. He knew about her visions in Isengard. But she didn't want to tell him about her choice in Lothlorien. Or about her most recent dream. If Yavanna hadn't seen fit to inform him of his dilemma then that's the way it would stay.

Boromir obviously decided that no more information was going to be given on the subject. They trotted in silence for a few moments and Mel was just starting to wonder if she should try to broach the subject of Osgiliath, when Boromir spoke again.

"My brother has always believed in dreams." He said. Mel perked up. He had spoken so very little about his family. "His mind is more open to such things I suppose. I have always lived in the world I see. I've never seen the wisdom in dreaming up more troubles in a world beyond my own. You could say I see only a portrait where Faramir sees a mural. He's always been able to look beyond the current situation and see possibilities I could not. He's much like my father in that respect."

Mel suppressed the urge to shiver. She really didn't want to tell him about Denethor. Maybe it wouldn't be a problem. After all, he knew that Boromir was alive now. Maybe the fact that he was a psychopath wouldn't even come up. Maybe it wouldn't be an issue. Mel tried to take comfort in that, but somehow she was having trouble convincing herself. A nut was a nut and it only took a little bit of pressure to make it crack. But still, she could hope…

"Melody?"

She jumped and turned to look at Boromir. He was staring at her with that familiar concerned look on his face.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked.

Mel decided to take the easy approach and be vaguely honest, "Nuts."

He gave her a funny look, but she just smiled at him. Finally, he shook his head and smiled.

"Your mind goes to such strange places."

She shrugged, "I know." There was a pause and Mel wrestled with her conscious for a minute before she decided to broach one of the many subjects she'd been dreading. "Are you still going to Osgiliath?"

Boromir nodded, "I keep hearing strange reports. They say it is poorly guarded and the assaults are frequent. Many expect it to fall soon if something isn't done. I need to see for myself and do what I can, then take a report back to Father. Perhaps he is not aware that the situation is so dire."

"Or maybe everyone's over exaggerating a little bit." Mel said, trying her best to sound ignorantly casual, "You know the more a story's told the worse it gets and these guys are pretty far from Osgiliath. Maybe it just grew out of proportion."

Boromir shook his head, "All the more reason I should assess the situation for myself. If the city is holding then that will be good news to take back to the city."

Mel realized that her idea to tell him that everything was fine wasn't gonna work. He was going, one way or the other. Her stomach clenched. She decided to drop all pretenses and move on to something more desperate.

"Don't go."

Well, she had been hoping for something a bit more eloquent, but apparently that was the best she could come up with. Boromir pulled his horse up short and stared at her. She met his eyes steadily with what she hoped was a convincing gaze.

"Don't go to Osgiliath."

He turned his horse and walked back until he was so close that his knee brushed hers.

"Why, Melody?" He asked, his face creased with tension, "Why do you not want me to go?"

"Because there's nothing you can do." She said, "Everybody's right, Osgiliath is practically defenseless and Sauron knows it and he's gonna hit you there first and there's no way for you to stop it and I realize that by saying all this it probably means that you're just gonna go anyway, but I had to try and do something to make you stay away because I don't know what might happen."

While she rambled Boromir's face grew more and more grave. Finally she took a shuddering breath and just waited. She didn't know what else to do. After a moment Boromir reached up and gently brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

"Dear Melody, how difficult this will be for you to understand." He whispered.

"You're still going, aren't you?" she said, less of a question, more an admission of defeat.

He sighed, "My people will be there, fighting for their freedom. Even if they fight a lost battle, I can not abandon them to their fate."

He started to turn his horse away when Mel decided to play a card she hadn't thought of before, "Faramir is there."

Once again Boromir pulled up short. Mel stared at his back taking only a nanosecond to decide on her next words. Better to risk his anger and see him safe than not to try at all.

"In the book he escapes the city unharmed." She said, "But if you go I don't know what will happen to him."

There was a long pause. Mel swallowed and waited. It was a dirty move and not one she would have thought she was capable of making. He would be angry at her, she was sure of it. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But she was willing to endure his anger if it kept him safe. After all, she'd endured his anger before. Her back ached at the thought.

Finally, he turned back to her. His face was made of stone with his mouth etched in a bitter smile.

"I did not think you had it in you to be cruel, Melody." He said, "It appears I have underestimated you yet again."

His face hurt her more than his words. He was cut off from her. What in god's name had she been thinking?

"I'm sorry." She whispered, "I just… I just…" _I just can't lose you again._ But she couldn't force herself to say the words. She had lost him once. When she was in Isengard, he was dead to her. And it had almost killed her.

Boromir turned and started down the road again, "You have given much to consider, Melody." He said, his voice cold and empty, "Perhaps it would be best if we continued our journey for a while in silence."

Her horse followed his without her having to do anything. As she followed behind him, she allowed herself one single tear that she quickly wiped away. Damn it, what in god's name had she been thinking?!

--

A/N: Ok, so do you ever have a moment when you think the story is going to go one way and then as you're writing it, it does something completely different. The end of this chapter was totally one of those moments. Just FYI.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: So here is chapter 27 and already I have almost as many reviews for this part of my story as I did for the first! Whoop Whoop *breaks into song* "I'm so excited! I just can't hide it!" Thank you so much for sticking with me through all of this craziness. I know I'm not the most consistent updater around, so thanks for suffering through the suspense that I unintentionally put you guys through. You're the best and you all deserve cookies and ice cream! So here's the next chapter, please enjoy! P.S. It's extra super-long because I feel so bad about my lazy updating lately :)

**Chapter 27**

The silence lasted for the rest of the morning and even continued when they stopped for lunch around noon. Mel felt absolutely horrible for what she had said. She picked at the bread that she pulled from her saddlebag, but she only managed to eat half the loaf. She couldn't even bring herself to look at Boromir. She had glanced up for a moment when they had first stopped, but his stony expression just made her feel sick to her stomach. She shouldn't have brought up Faramir. How could she ask him to choose between the fate of his brother and his honor? It had been a dirty trick and she had known he would be angry, but she had expected some kind of fight. A screaming match would have been better than this unending silence.

They finished eating and continued down the road, still not speaking. Mel wanted to make it right, but she was sure that any apology she tried to make now would fall on deaf ears. Besides what could she say? She couldn't take it back. The fact was that she truly didn't know what would happen once Boromir reentered the continuity of the story she had read in her time. The Valar had already made it abundantly clear that his very existence had upset the balance of life as they knew it. She couldn't tell Boromir that his brother would be fine because she didn't know that. At the same time, implying that by showing up in Osgiliath he might condemn his brother to death had been unnecessarily cruel. But she had been desperate. How else was she supposed to keep him safe?

_What about the siege of Minas Tirith?_ A little voice whispered in her head. _How will you protect him then?_

She shook her head and decided to concentrate on that when they actually got to Minas Tirith. There might not be anything she could do to protect him, but damn it, she was not going to just lie down and give up! There had to be something she could do!

_"Have her choose another to take his place. A life for a life."_

The words of Mandos echoed in her mind and she felt sick at the thought. How could she do that? How could she choose to let another person die to save him? She stared at Boromir's back, stiff and straight in his saddle. He was still angry. But she loved him. It was the reason for everything that she had done, everything she had said. She loved him. How could she give him up now? Even the suggestion made her chest seize up.

Boromir continued to stay silent and resolutely turned away from her for the remainder of the afternoon. Mel saw the Wardens' camp at Nardol far before they reached it. It was the first camp they had come upon that was not nestled into a grove of trees. There was very little life at all. It stood against the side of the mountain, surrounded by a wall that seemed to be made entirely of logs. There was a guard posted on the wall and the gate of the camp was swung wide for them as they approached. There were only a couple of bushes tucked into a few crevices in the mountain and a few scattered in the camp itself, but not nearly what could be called a forest. Mel felt a little uneasy. It was the first time in days that she would be without the trees to protect her as she slept. She was used to listening to their gentle murmur as she drifted off. Even when she had known that she would only drift into nightmares the fact that the trees had been there had been a comfort to her.

They trotted into the camp well before sunset. A young man with fair, shoulder-length hair and a smooth, smiling face was there to meet them. Mel could see Boromir plaster an incredibly fake smile on his face just before they reached the camp. He dismounted and clasped the man's hand.

"My lord Boromir, welcome." The young man said, "I am Vanion, Captain of the Nardol Beacon. We received word of your arrival, but I admit we were not expecting you so soon."

"We made haste past the post at Min-Rimmon and stayed at Erelas last night." Boromir said, "It was perilous, but saved us a full day's journey."

Mel shuddered. Perilous her ass! More like, scarier than shit! But she didn't say anything, she just started to dismount. But just as she swung her leg over the saddle, she felt hands on her waist, softening her descent. When she dropped to the ground she was face to face with the young smiling captain.

"Ah, and the Lady Melody of Rivendell." He said, taking her hand and planting a soft kiss on her knuckles, "The messengers spoke of the young lady who lived among elves, but they did not mention you to be so fair."

Mel was stunned. Vanion was the first of the Wardens in all the camps they'd visited to actually take the time to greet her properly. But the way he smiled at her made her a little bit uncomfortable. She gently removed her hand from his and smiled.

"Thank you, Captain." She said quietly. Then trying to find something to do so she could stop awkwardly looking at him, she turned and pulled the reins over her horse's head. But Vanion immediately took the reins from her hands.

"Allow me, my lady." He said, "I am sure you are tired from your journey. You may take your ease at the fireside if you like."

She couldn't help it. She smiled at him. "Thank you."

Then she glanced up at Boromir. He was glaring. The look shocked her. Was he still that angry at her about what she had said? Or had she done something else wrong? She wondered if she'd committed some kind of faux-pas, but she couldn't think of anything she had done. She dropped her head and hurried away.

The fire wasn't really a fire yet, just a pile of embers in a circle of stones. It wasn't really cold enough for it to be built up and the sun was still shining. Mel sat down for a moment, but she soon realized that she wasn't really tired. The few bushes in the area had introduced themselves and all seemed extremely honored to have her among them, but they were small and not very talkative. She was surprised to realize that she was bored. This was the first time they had reached camp before sunset and there was nothing to do.

She risked a glance back at the men. The horses had been taken away and Boromir had gone to the far side of the camp, deep in conversation with one of the other Wardens. Mel sighed and glanced at the wall around the camp. It was a log wall about ten feet high with a long narrow walkway built around the inside for guards to stand watch. She saw a ladder leading up to the walkway and decided to take a look. She climbed the ladder and stood looking out over Rohan. The plains seemed to stretch on forever, the gentle breezes that ruffled her hair rippling the grasses in front of her in waves. She pulled her cloak around her to protect her from the chill. It was pretty, but it was so empty. It was almost lifeless.

"Does the view suit you, my lady?"

She jumped. Vanion had appeared beside her. He was watching her with an interested smile, actually expecting a response.

She turned back to the plains, "It's pretty enough. But there's not much to it. Just grass and rocks."

She looked back and Vanion was nodding, "I am sure you are ready to be back in comfortable society."

She shrugged, "Yea, I guess so." In fact she wasn't really looking forward to 'comfortable society' at all. To her, that was synonymous with 'awkward'.

Vanion glanced at her, "May I ask how you came to reside in Rivendell, my lady? Do you have family there?"

She almost laughed, but she restrained herself. She only wished she had family in Rivendell! "No, I came there by chance and Lord Elrond took me in."

"So your family resides in Gondor?"

She forced herself not to fidget. How long could she evade his questions? He didn't seem suspicious of her, but his questions seemed to contain a hint of something more than idle curiosity. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

"No." she said, deciding that short answers were perhaps the best course right now until she could come up with a better plan.

The young man stared into her face and then some sort of realization seemed to dawn on him, "Oh, my lady, forgive me if I've made you uncomfortable. Your family… have they passed on?"

Her breath hitched. It was the best explanation. After all, she was completely alone in this world with no family to speak of. Really, they might as well be dead. Was that what her family thought of her? Did they think she was dead?

She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak. Vanion bowed his head.

"I am sorry, Lady Melody. We have all lost loved ones."

_Not like me._ Mel thought, turning back to the barren plains. _No one's lost like me._

The captain seemed eager to change the subject, "So traveling with Lord Boromir must be exciting for you."

She tried to smile, "It's certainly been interesting."

"He's one of the greatest swordsmen of Gondor. Has he taught you much?" Vanion asked, glancing down at the sword buckled to her waist.

Mel put a hand on the hilt, "He tries. I'm afraid that I might not be the best student he's ever had."

"But I doubt that you are the worst, my lady." Vanion said, leaning in and grinning mischievously.

She smiled back, but he was giving her that strange smile again, the one that made her feel uncomfortable in a way that she just couldn't put her finger on. She took a step back and turned back to the plains, tugging her cloak closer to her. The sun was beginning to set, turning the horizon orange and a light pink.

"They will be preparing supper soon." Vanion said, "Would you care to join me by the fire?"

Mel turned and studied his face. Then she decided that there was nothing wrong with his smile. He was just being friendly, something she hadn't gotten much of at the previous beacons. She smiled.

"I'd love to."

He led the way to the ladder and descended first. When Mel got within reach of the ground, once again Vanion put his hands on her waist to guide her to the ground. Mel smiled at him.

"Thank you."

Then Mel glanced up and froze. Boromir was watching her from across the camp. And he was glaring again. Her smile disappeared. How could he still be that furious at her? When Vanion put a hand on the small of her back to guide her to the fireside, she jumped. He paused.

"Is everything alright, my lady?"

Mel looked back at Boromir, but his back was turned to her now, deep in discussion with another Warden. She suppressed a sigh. "Yea, everything's fine. Sorry."

She allowed herself to be led to the fire and sat down beside Vanion. Luckily he didn't ask her anymore questions about herself, instead asking her about her impressions of the other beacons. She told him about Anarion at Halfirien and it turned out that the two had trained together in Minas Tirith. That did even more to put her uneasiness about Vanion to rest. He told her stories about their training days that made her laugh out loud at times. A supper of stew and warm bread was served. Mel glanced up and saw Boromir observing her quietly from across the fire. But when she met his eyes he looked away. Mel was suddenly overwhelmed by uneasiness and vulnerability. This was the first supper she had spent without Boromir next to her. She almost stood up and moved to be next to him. But she was pretty sure that Vanion would think that was rude. And besides Boromir was still angry at her. She sighed and pushed away her disquiet. But at least Boromir wasn't glaring at her now.

The night wore on and Mel actually tried to keep up with the conversation around her, mostly about battle tactics and old war stories, some stories about family and friends back home. A few of the men were supposed to be heading home in a week's time. Mel kept her eyes down most of the time when they mentioned that. She felt guilty. They had no idea that they would be coming home to destruction.

The night wore on and Mel began to feel her eyes getting heavy. She tried to stifle a yawn, but Vanion noticed.

"My lady, I'm sure you are tired. Let me show you to your quarters." He said, standing and offering her his hand.

She took it and let him help her to her feet. She thought she saw Boromir move out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked, he was still sitting, staring into the fire distractedly. Vanion put his hand on the small of her back and Mel let herself be led. What ever was bothering him could wait until tomorrow, when they were alone on the road again.

Vanion led her in the direction of the cabin farthest from the fire. There was one scrawny bush next to the doorway and some vines climbing the walls, but it looked horribly bare. Mel suppressed a shiver. It was going to be a long lonely night. They reached the door, but suddenly Vanion took a hold of her arm.

"So," he whispered, "How does this work exactly?"

Mel looked up, confused. He was smiling at her. No, not smiling. Leering. Mel felt her stomach clench and she heard leaves rustle in the dark. That had been the uneasiness she had felt. That was what he'd been hiding in his smile.

She tried to tug her arm away, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He rolled his eyes and pushed her against the wall of the cabin, grabbing both her arms, "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about _lady_ Melody." He sneered, "I want what you've been handing out. Everybody's talking about it. Come on," he purred in her ear, "You give it to Boromir, right?"

That was when she snapped. The power that was hiding inside of her flared to life and reached out to whatever life was nearest her. "Get him."

There was a split second, when Vanion looked completely confused. And then the vines leapt to life around her. They lashed out and wrapped around Vanion's arms, jerking him away from her. Two of the lower branches of the bush surged forward and grabbed his legs, yanking them out from under him and pulling him to the ground. He screamed and struggled against the thick woody stems holding him captive, but Mel ignored him, her anger filling her up and spilling over.

"Don't you _ever_ talk about him again." She hissed through her teeth as she stood over him. Slowly, a vine worked its way up his body and wrapped itself around his neck. "He has more good in his little finger than you have in your whole god damn body, you slimy piece of shit! Don't you _EVER…_"

"Melody!"

The voice cut through everything, all the rage and fear and hurt Vanion had caused her. It was Boromir's voice. Mel looked up. Boromir was staring at her, wide-eyed, along with all the other Wardens. Mel took a deep breath and calmed herself. Slowly, the vines and the branches disentangled themselves from Vanion, who was looking a little purple in the face. He gasped and coughed when he was finally released. The other Wardens close to him helped him to his feet, but he found his voice and started shouting hysterically.

"She's a witch, a witch of Morgoth, burn her, burn her! She'll destroy us all!" He tried to lunge at Mel, but Boromir stepped in front of her and shoved him back.

"If you so much as a lay a finger on her, I will cut you to pieces and feed you to the orcs."

Vanion looked up at him, confused and furious, "But, you saw! You saw what she did, it was sorcery!"

"There are others who perform such feats and we do not burn them. Would you burn Mithrandir?"

That seemed to puzzle Vanion for a moment. But then his eyes lit up and he growled, "She's bewitched you." He looked around at the other Wardens, his eyes gleaming, "She's bewitched all of you! Break her spell! Break it! She's the death of us!"

But Boromir didn't really look like he was listening any more. He waved a hand carelessly, "Orodion, Luinmir, take him away. Prepare horses and escort him back to Minas Tirith. He will not remain one more night here."

The two men supporting Vanion took a firmer grip on his arms. Vanion suddenly looked a like a wild animal caught in a trap. He tugged against the men who were once his comrades, "No, no you don't understand she's bespelled you! You're all under a spell! Wake up! Don't let her control you! Don't do this!"

The men started to drag him away, struggling and cursing and crying out. Boromir took a step back, his body shielding Mel from sight. She let him. She didn't want to see the damage she'd caused. She'd already seen some of it in the eyes of the others. Fear. They were terrified of her. She wanted to lean forward and bury her face in his tunic, but she didn't. That would only make things worse.

Slowly, Vanion's cries died away. The other Wardens slowly scattered throughout the camp, disappearing into the night. Finally, Boromir was the only one left.

"Are you hurt?" He asked. His back was still to her, but she could see that it was rigid.

She shook her head and crossed her arms to keep herself from shivering, "No, no I'm alright."

"Why did you do that, Melody?" He asked.

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to tell him what Vanion had said, what they all thought of her. She didn't want to say that his men thought she was his whore. God, was that what they all thought? Was that behind every kind smile, every nice gesture? Were they all thinking that of her? God, she was so embarrassed! How could she have thought that they were just being nice? She was do damn naïve! She buried her face in her hands trying to hide from it, to make it disappear.

"Melody?" She peeked up through her fingers. Boromir had turned around and was staring at her, still waiting for her to answer. What could she say? Any lie she came up with, she was sure he would see right through it. He was good at that. But God, she did not want to say the words. She crossed her arms and stared at her shoes.

"He…" her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, "He just said some things that… well, they were… he suggested that… he thought that we…" He voice cracked again and she cleared her throat again. Her face was burning hot. She was glad it was dark and he probably couldn't see it. Just one sentence, she just had to condense it to one god-damn sentence, "He thought I was free for the taking. I was letting him know that I wasn't."

There was a long silence. Finally, Mel couldn't handle the anticipation anymore and she looked at him. His face was a set mask of stone as he stared at her. It was that frightening face, the face that scared her more than anything else that he did. She almost wished that she hadn't looked at all. For a minute longer he just stared at her, his eyes looking into hers. Mel was afraid to move.

When he finally spoke, his voice was leaden, "He tried to force himself on you?"

Mel was too afraid not to answer. She nodded. She saw Boromir's eyes flash and he took a step away from her.

"I'll be right back."

He was going to kill him. Mel suddenly had a horrible feeling in her gut that Boromir was going to walk very calmly across the camp and kill Vanion. She didn't know what made her think that, but she was completely sure and she didn't want to take any chances. Just as Boromir turned his back, Mel used the only thing she had in her arsenal that she thought might even possibly work to keep him from committing murder.

"Please don't leave me alone." He paused and Mel took that as a good sign. "I'm kinda freaking out and you're the only friend I have right now."

It wasn't a lie. Not even remotely. She didn't want to be left alone in this place. After all, who was to say that some of the boys might not show up and decide that they all wanted what Vanion was after. She didn't think that scrawny shrub and a few measly vines would keep them at bay for long. The truth was she was scared. And if her fear just happened to keep Boromir from killing somebody, well, all the better. Two birds with one stone.

There was one terrible moment when Boromir didn't do anything. Then Mel saw his shoulders sag.

"I can't even keep you safe from my own people." He whispered, "I am so sorry, Melody."

She took a few steps and stood next to him. She made sure to keep a little distance between them though, "It's not your fault Vanion is an ass. Besides, I've faced worse and survived, one measly Warden is nothing." She looked up and gave him a cheeky grin. He smiled back, but his eyes were still extremely upset. "Besides," she added, turning away and staring into the night, "It's my own fault. If I hadn't pissed you off to begin with, you would have been with me the whole time. None of this would have happened." She felt Boromir move, but now was as good a time for an apology as any so she just plowed on, "I'm really sorry about what I said, by the way. I was afraid and I panicked. I don't know what's going to happen when we get to Gondor and it scares the hell out of me. I just…" She almost said, _I just don't want to lose you again._ But she didn't. She just let it trail off. Because there was still a small part of her that whispered, _You're nothing. You're insignificant. How could you mean anything at all to someone like him?_

For a few minutes they just stood together in silence. Then, finally, Boromir spoke.

"Melody, what you told me today, it was upsetting. But that was not why I was not with you tonight. I had already forgiven you. I forgave you long before we came into camp. But my pride would not let me admit that to you. And I had much to think about. And then I saw…" Boromir's words faltered, and Mel glanced up to make sure he was ok. His eyes were closed and he took a deep breath and started again, "When Vanion took an interest in you, I was suspicious. I did not like the way he looked at you when your back was turned. But, you… you seemed… happy. So, I decided to let you be." He looked down at her, "I swear on my life, Melody, if I had thought he would hurt you I would have done everything in my power to protect you. But he's a Warden-Captain, one of the most trusted officers in Gondor. I expect more of them."

Just then, they heard the sound of horses' hooves and turned to watch. Three men rode out of camp, two leading the third by the reins. Vanion sat with his arms tied behind him and his legs lashed to his saddle. He turned a burning glare on Boromir and Mel as he was led to the gate. Then, when the men stopped to wait for the gate to open, the young Captain spit viciously in their direction. Mel saw Boromir reach for his sword, his eyes on fire, his face set. She reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't." she said, "I just want him to leave. That's all."

Boromir nodded and let go of his sword hilt, but his eyes burned holes into Vanion until the gates shut behind him and hid him from view.

"If he ever shows his face again…" Boromir growled, his fists clenched.

For her part, Mel hoped that was the last time she ever saw Captain Vanion.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Sorry this is taking me so long, guys! I keep getting stuck mid-chapter and it takes me forever to work past it. I hope you can forgive me. This chapter isn't very long. I'll try to make up for it next time. Enjoy!

**Chapter 28**

_As soon as she began to dream, it was odd. Her dreams swirled and morphed, changing and shifting, never quite taking on form. Faces floated through the mix, Saruman, Vanion, orcs, Legolas, the hobbits, Boromir. They all whirled and churned around her, passing through different events, different nightmares. But nothing seemed substantial. Nothing seemed real. Then a familiar voice called out through the craziness, loud and crystal clear._

_**"Melody Calenhiril."**_

_ Instantly, she was transported to a forest. It was a forest she had never seen before. But at the same time, it seemed familiar. She looked down and saw a path cutting through the underbrush. She knew this path. She knew where it led. She followed it until she came to a clearing. The path split into two branches. And Yavanna stood at the crossroads._

_ "Haven't we already done this once?" Mel asked, trying to hide her nervousness. She didn't like this. And the Valie did not look happy._

_**"I am sorry, child."**__ She said, her voice forlorn, __**"But the choice has been given to you."**_

_ Yavanna pointed down the path to her left. Mel looked and a light suddenly burst through the trees. And standing in the light, smiling at her, was Boromir. He held his sword in his hand and he twirled it playfully, his eyes sparkling like they did when he was getting ready to spar with her. Then the light faded._

_ Anticipating what came next, Mel looked down the right hand path. But the path remained dark. She couldn't see anything in there. She looked back at Yavanna._

_ "So what are my choices?" she asked._

_ Yavanna's eyes were sad, __**"It has not yet been decided. When the time comes, you will know."**_

___Mel felt herself getting angry, "So that's it? That's all I get? How do I choose between him and someone else, when I don't even know the other options? What kind of a crazy game are you people playing anyway?"_

_** "It is Mandos who will reveal the second choice to you. And he has not yet decided who it shall be."**_

_ "Do I at least get a deadline or a timeframe or something?"_

_**"I cannot say. It is Mandos who will decide."**__ Yavanna looked about as angry as Mel felt, __**"And I have been forbidden from visiting you again until the choice is made. Manwe has decided this is best. After tonight, you will not see me anymore."**_

_ Mel didn't know what to say, "What do you mean? You won't talk to me anymore? How am I supposed to know when to make my choice?"_

_**"When the time comes, you will know."**__ She said. She looked sad again, __**"I am sorry, Melody Calenhiril. I did my best to keep him from harm. The rest, I'm afraid, is up to you. Be strong. Be brave. Be vigilant. Mandos longs for your soul as well."**_

Mel gasped and sat up with a start. Her hand instantly went to her sword hilt propped against her bed. She sat very still and listened. She thought she heard a scuffling outside her door. She carefully slid out of bed and edged her way across the floor of her empty cabin. She listened at the door. The sounds were gone. But she reached out with her mind to the bush outside.

_"There is only the man from last night, Calenhiril."_ The bush reported, _"He hasn't left all night long."_

That confused her. A man from last night? Not Vanion, he was long gone. Could it be…? Very quietly, she cracked her door open and peeked outside. Boromir was leaning against the wall of her cabin, sleeping with his sword across his knees. For a minute Mel just stared at him. All night? Boromir had slept on her doorstep all night? For a minute her heart fluttered.

_**I am sorry, child. But the choice has been given to you.**_

Boromir stirred in his sleep, his hair falling into his eyes. Mel suddenly had a strong urge to smooth it back from his face. But she resisted. She had to resist, she told herself. She was getting too close. She was gonna get hurt. Quietly, she stepped back into her cabin and shut the door without so much as a click. Then she quietly packed her things and put on her shoes and sword belt. Light was just beginning to seep onto the horizon when she very quietly opened the door again. There was no need. Boromir was gone. At first she panicked, thinking something might have happened to him. But then she glanced up and saw him, leaning against the log wall, smiling at her.

"Ready for your lesson?" he asked.

She smiled and shut the door behind her. Boromir looked her up and down.

"You're up early." He said.

Mel hitched her bag up on her shoulder, "Didn't really sleep well."

Boromir nodded, "Are you still having nightmares?"

Mel thought back to her dream from last night. It probably wasn't what a normal person would classify as a nightmare. But it scared her more than the fabrications of her own mind. This was real. She nodded.

"Yea, but I'll be alright."

Boromir didn't say anything, but his face had lost that cheerful look. He looked somber now as he pushed himself up off the wall and unsheathed his sword. Mel dropped her bag and pulled out her own blade and training began without words or ceremony. There was no particular focus to it. They just fought over and over again. Mel lost every match. She tried not to be discouraged. After all she was fighting the best swordsman in Gondor. But after Boromir's fifth successful attempt to knock her on her ass, she was finding it difficult to feel optimistic. Boromir smiled and sheathed his sword.

"You're getting better." He said, pulling her to her feet.

She rolled her eyes as she picked up her sword, "I'm gonna have to take your word on that. I don't feel like I'm any better."

"Sometimes you must ignore what you feel and accept the truth."

She sighed and looked up. The sun was fully up now. Birds were chirping. The sky was blue. The air was clear and clean. It certainly didn't feel like the end of the world, but she knew that it could be. She glanced at Boromir. It didn't feel like he was in danger, but he was. He smiled and held out her bag.

Her heart stuttered. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She was overwhelmed with a desire to just step up and wrap her arms around his neck. The urge only lasted for a second or two. Then she glanced at the campfire. There were a few men sitting around it, talking quietly in the early morning calm, occasionally peeking over at them. Common sense came flooding back and memories of last night, of the awful things these men must think of her. Boromir was right. Sometimes you had to ignore how you felt. And Mel needed to start doing just that. She steeled herself and took the bag from him, making sure she didn't get any closer to him, didn't even brush his fingers, even though she could have. Then she took a step back.

"Shall we go to breakfast?" He asked, reaching out a hand for her. But she stayed where she was.

"Look, I think we should get some things clear." Mel said, "And I think you know that." Boromir's face softly melted into uncertainty, but Mel forced herself to keep going, "Those guys over there are not my friends. In fact, they don't think very highly of me at all. And I don't want to ruin your reputation with them anymore than I already have, so I'm gonna go ahead and back off and I think maybe you should too. Better now than have to deal with culture shock in a few days when we get to Minas Tirith anyway."

Boromir still looked confused, his hand frozen in the air, still reaching for her. "Melody, what are you saying?" His voice was soft and shaky.

Mel slung her bag on her shoulder, "I'm saying don't sleep outside my door anymore."

It was the hardest thing she'd ever said, because she really didn't mean it. She wanted nothing more than to know that Boromir would sleep outside her door. But she had to ignore what she wanted. She had to think about what was best for him and stop being selfish. And this was best. She turned on her heel and started walking toward the campfire, just so Boromir wouldn't see her as she wiped tears from her eyes.

* * *

Boromir felt as if he'd just been punched in the gut by a troll. She wanted him to stay away. That's what she was saying. Stay back. You're too close. He had to force himself to breathe. He turned and followed her to the campfire, but he still felt dazed. He was aware of the wide berth the men gave Melody, and the nervous glances they cast her way. She sat on one side of the fire, while they all sat on the other. Boromir seated himself in the middle between them. He felt ripped in two. He couldn't leave her alone. But she didn't want him with her. Where was he supposed to go? Where did he belong?

If the food was good, he didn't taste it. He ate mechanically until his plate was empty. Then he went to saddle the horses. He unconsciously placed himself where he could see her, could get to her easily if she needed him, but as soon as he realized what he was doing he shifted. It was so uncomfortable not to have her in sight. He'd never felt like this before. He'd always been sure of his place, confident in his position. But now he felt like a man without a map and no stars to guide him. He hadn't realized it, but he had so easily stepped into the role of Melody's friend and protector. It suited him as few things had.

He glanced at the fire again and Melody was gone. Instantly, he panicked. He dropped his bridle and whirled around, searching. Then he saw her in the lean-to brushing the white mare that was to be her steed for the day. He relaxed and picked up the bridle, wiping the bit before settling it on his gelding's head. As he finished tacking up, he tried to tell himself that his concerns were normal. He was only being a gentleman. He even tried to convince himself that this was simply because she had saved his life and he felt that he owed her. But he couldn't really fool himself. It wasn't about the past anymore. He wasn't really sure it had ever been about the past. The simple truth was that if anything happened to her, he didn't know what he would do. And that thought frightened him more than all the orcs in Mordor.

After only a few more moments and a tense farewell, they were on their way again. They didn't speak. Boromir's thoughts were still scattered. He didn't know what to do with himself. Now that they were out of camp, was it safe to be friendly again? Or were they to be forever locked in unending awkwardness and silence? The thought of never speaking to her again made him anxious, to never hear her laugh. It was unbearable. Her silence was like a weight threatening to crush him. At first he desperately searched for something to say, something that she couldn't object to, something safe.

But he had never been well-versed in the art of casual conversation. The more time he spent trying to think of something to say, the angrier he became. And Melody became an easy target for his anger. What right had she to cut him off from her? They were traveling companions if nothing else. How could she expect him to spend hours upon hours in her company and not speak a word? And what about their friendship? Did it mean so little to her? How could she expect to isolate herself from him after all this time? And what reason did she have? His reputation? How could she possibly base his reputation on one man's flawed and demented opinion? She was going to throw away all of her pleasant experiences with the Wardens, all of the good men she had met, because of one ghastly incident. It didn't make sense!

As he got angrier and angrier, he decided that it was not his place to lift the silence. If Melody insisted on being unreasonable, he would not argue with her. If he truly meant so little to her, then he would leave her to her brooding. Perhaps by the end of the day she would come to her senses. Deep down, he hoped and prayed that she would.

--

A/N: So it looks like things just aren't ever going to go smoothly for our favorite couple… Sorry, guys, I know some of you are practically pulling your hair out waiting for them to both come to their senses, but the time has not yet come for that. Keep reading, I promise, it'll get better.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: (peeks around a corner and quickly ducks to avoid flying objects from frustrated fans). I know, I know! It's been forever! I'm sorry, I really am. My computer got a virus and went to the Big Junkyard in the sky (may it rest in peace). It took me forever to get a new one, but now I'm back! I'll try not to go away on you like that again. Now (finally) on with the show!

**Chapter 29**

Mel had been wracking her brain all day, trying to think of something to say to Boromir, but she just kept coming up empty. And Boromir didn't seem too keen on helping her out. At first, he'd gone about in a bit of a daze, tacking the horses and barely acknowledging the good-byes of the Wardens. But after a few hours on the road, his back suddenly straightened and he kicked his horse into a canter purposefully, Mel following close behind. They hadn't spoken at all, not even when they stopped for lunch.

_Good, _Mel thought, _This is good. Distance. This is exactly what I wanted._

But that didn't seem make her feel any better. In fact it almost made her feel worse. Apparently, giving her distance wasn't difficult at all for Boromir. He didn't even seem bothered by it. She tried not to be upset about that, but it was hard when she felt like her heart was breaking. Obviously she wasn't as important to him as she had thought. She had at least expected him to sulk a little. Or maybe try to talk to her. But he seemed perfectly content to just ride in silence. So she shoved her cracking heart deep into her chest, put on her best blank face and dutifully followed after him.

It was the first day they had ever spent together in complete silence. Hours after their brief lunch stop, the soft green line of forest was one of the happiest sights Mel thought she had ever seen in her life. The forest surrounding Eilenach was thick, which meant there was plenty of conversation buzzing around her. All the trees seemed to have been waiting for her. She grinned at the enthusiastic greetings she received as she rode under the branches.

_"How did you all know I was coming?"_

An eager beech answered her, _"Oh, Calenhiril, we heard from the riders that passed through last night! We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival!"_

Mel's blood ran cold, _"What men? What did you hear?"_

_"They spoke of a lady who had lived with the elves and called on the plants to do her bidding! Oh, Calenhiril, we knew it was you! But they did not seem happy at the news. Why would that be, my lady?"_

Mel swallowed nervously. So it seemed her reputation was going to precede her. And despite the trees' delight at her arrival, she didn't think her coming would be heralded as a joyous occasion for the people of Gondor. If last night and this morning were any indication, all she had to look forward to was fear and misunderstanding.

"Melody?"

Mel jumped. Boromir's back was still to her, stiff in the saddle, but she was sure she had heard his voice.

And then he spoke again, "Perhaps it would be wise not to speak of what happened last night."

Mel sighed, "It doesn't matter. They already know."

"We can't be certain of that."

"I can."

Boromir finally glanced back at her, puzzled. Mel pointed at the branches above them.

"I had my very own welcoming party waiting for me."

Boromir glanced up briefly, then he put his back to her again, "What do you think we should we say?"

Mel shrugged, even though he couldn't see her, "The truth always seems to work out in the end. If anyone asks, I'll tell them the truth."

Boromir paused, and then he nodded. They didn't say anything else.

They were surrounded so quietly that Mel wouldn't have known anyone was there if the trees hadn't warned her. It was still full daylight and Mel couldn't see even a hint of the Wardens, despite the trees' reassurances that they were out there. The Wardens followed them for a few feet, just watching them from the shade of the branches. It made Mel jumpy, flinching at shadows and cracking twigs. Finally, she got tired of it. She pulled her horse up short and lifted her hands to show she wasn't armed. After only a few paces Boromir realized she wasn't following him and he turned to stare at her.

She met his eyes squarely, "They're already here. I'm tired of being followed and watched like some kind of criminal. I haven't done anything wrong. So I'm not moving until someone comes out and says something civilized."

She said all of this loud enough that the Wardens would be sure to hear her. She didn't have to wait long for a response. After only a moment of tense silence, a man slipped out of the trees. He was so large that Mel's surprise at his stealth doubled. He was a mountain of a man, with broad shoulders, muscled forearms, a thick middle and legs built like tree trunks. His face was stern and covered with bristling auburn hair streaked with gray. He stared her down with eyes of steely gray.

"I am Orodion, Captain of the Beacon at Eilenach. We have heard strange rumors of you, Melody of Rivendell."

"Now I never knew you to be an old gossip, Orodion." Boromir said, sidling his horse up next to Mel. To hell with distance, Mel thought. She was glad he was there. "Don't tell me you've turned skittish in your old age."

Orodion's eyes flashed and he finally tore his gaze from her to glare at Boromir, "Now lad, don't go thinking that just because you've brought the lady along that I won't still box your ears as I did when you were a child. You're still no match for me I'd wager."

"Call out your command, old man, you know we mean you no harm." Boromir said, smiling now.

Orodion's eyes flicked back to Mel, "I know that of you, Boromir, son of Denethor. But the lady of Rivendell troubles me still."

Mel straightened in her saddle and was trying to think of a clever response when Boromir covered her hands with one of his own. The touch sent a jolt through her arms. She glanced at Boromir. His smile was gone, replaced with a look that she had seen many times before. His face was stern and set like stone, a fire in his eyes. He was protecting her. Until that moment, Mel had not thought that she was in any real danger from the Wardens. They were cautious of course, but she didn't think they would hurt her. The look in Boromir's eyes told her differently. She kept silent and very still.

"I vouch for her, Orodion." Boromir said, his voice level, but simmering, "There was a time when that was all the assurance you would have needed."

"Times have changed, lad." Orodion said, his eyes steely again, never leaving Mel, "Even the best of us can be deceived in a moment of weakness."

Boromir's grip tightened on Mel's hands. He was trembling, "Who can we trust," he whispered, "If we cannot trust each other?"

Mel held her breath as Orodion continued to stare at her, searching her eyes. Mel met his gaze steadily, but she felt as if her mind were being peeled away like an onion until her soul was all that was left, exposed for the captain's scrutiny. She had never felt so vulnerable in her whole life. In a panic, she grabbed Boromir's hand and held on tight. Boromir wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. He would keep her safe.

Then, suddenly, she was free. She choked as she gasped for air and started coughing. She felt Boromir's hands slip away from hers and she reached out for him, not ready to let go, not ready to be alone. His hands cupped her face and she gripped his arms, still gasping for air.

"Melody, are you alright?" He asked. She looked up. The look of stone had melted from his face and all that remained was concern.

"I am sorry if I frightened you, Lady Melody." Orodion said, his voice drawing her attention back to him, "I had to be certain of you."

"What the hell did you do to me?" she asked, her voice shaking. Her fear was quickly transforming into anger and the leaves around her began to tremble.

"Melody, Orodion has a form of Sight." Boromir said, his hands once again griping hers, "But instead of Seeing into the future, he Sees into the hearts of Men."

"I didn't warn you because most people never realize what's happening." Orodion added, "I can only assume that your own power makes you sensitive to the power of others, something I have never come upon before."

"He didn't mean you any harm." Boromir said, his eyes shifting nervously from her eyes to a point over her shoulder and back again. At first, Mel couldn't understand why he seemed so edgy. After all, he wasn't the one who had just had his mind peeled apart and examined. But then she heard the murmuring. She glanced over her shoulder. The trees were still trembling and she could feel their anger burning for her fear and helplessness. That wasn't going to help anything. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

**"Be still."**

She had meant for it to be a silent command, but the power in her chest bubbled over and the words slipped past her lips before she could think to stop them. A rush of power flowed from her and out into the trees in a ripple. The forest was silent.

She turned back to Orodion. His eyes were wide as he stared at her, "Then it really is true." He whispered.

Mel nodded. What else could she do? "But if you really saw into my heart, Captain, then you know that I don't want to hurt anyone. If I wanted you hurt, you would be hurt already."

As if to demonstrate her point, a tiny branch of a tree nearest her reached out and touched her hand. She reached up and allowed it to tangle around her fingers. It felt like the tree was holding her hand in comfort.

_"We won't harm them Calenhiril. Tell him we won't harm them. They treat us well, they will show the same respect for you."_

She smiled and looked back at Orodion, "They say that they won't hurt you. You respect the forest. You have earned it's respect in return."

Orodion looked around at the trees as if he had never seen them before, "They speak to you?"

She resisted the urge to laugh, "All the time, Captain."

"Will your men be joining you now, Orodion?" Boromir asked. He had settled back on his horse and let go of Mel's hand. It still tingled from his touch. The tiny branch still entwined around her other hand was the only thing that kept her from rubbing her hands together.

Orodion turned behind him and waved into the forest. Slowly a band of Wardens began edging out of the trees. They were quiet and cautious, many of them with hands on sword hilts and bow strings. They would never trust her, no matter what power Orodion had. She was still an unknown, a thing to be feared. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by loneliness.

"Now, if you will both follow us, a hot meal waits for us at camp. The night approaches and no one is safe out after dark." Orodion said.

Mel shuddered thinking of what the nighttime brought. The branch finally released her hand and she and Boromir dismounted to follow the Wardens back to camp. It was a simple small circle in what appeared to be a natural clearing. A fire burned brightly in the middle of a large circle of dead wood. Several men were already seated eating the evening meal. They rose when the patrol entered the clearing, their jovial faces quickly darkening into suspicion when they laid eyes on Mel. She tried not to meet any of their eyes. She longed for Boromir's touch again, even just a brush of his arm to remind her that she wasn't completely friendless here. But no touch came. He remained at a safe distance from her. Just as she'd asked him to.

Orodion barked orders for their mounts to be cared for and food brought. She smiled and thanked the man who handed her the bowl of steaming stew and bread. He paused and stared at her as if he had been expecting her to be mute. Then he managed her a small half smile and mumbled something that might have been "You're welcome" before he shuffled to the other side of the fire. All of the men had shifted slightly after she'd sat down. There was enough room on both sides of her that she could have reached out both her arms and not touched anyone. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cradled her bowl of stew, huddling in on herself.

Boromir ignored her, deep in conversation with the men about the state of the country and the border patrols particularly around Osgiliath. They talked about skirmishes and full-fledged battles and tactics. Mel sipped at her stew and stared into the fire. She had been starving before they'd reached the forest. Now she seemed to have lost her appetite. She listened to the murmur of the trees, but it did nothing to sooth her tonight. She felt like she was alone in a camp full of people.

She finished her stew and bread because she knew she needed to, then she pulled her cloak around her tightly, shutting everything out. Then she faced her feelings head on. She was lonely. But that was really her own fault. She had been the one to lose her temper and let the trees take over. She had also been the one to push Boromir away. It sucked now. But she still stood by her decision. One way or another she was going to get hurt. Better now than later. At least now she might have some time to get over it before the war caught up to them. Maybe she'd be able to think clearly when she had to make the most heart-rending choice of her life.

_A life for a life..._

_ Have her choose another..._

_ I am so sorry, child..._

The words of the Valar rose up and swirled through her mind. Who would they choose for her? Who's life would she have to end to save Boromir? Could she purposefully send someone to their death? The thought made her feel sick. She was going to have to kill someone, someone with a family and people that loved them. A life for a life.

Mel felt a tingle in her chest and she jerked her head up. Orodion was staring at her from across the fire. She looked around. All the other men were gone. How long had she sat there, just staring into nothingness? Where was Boromir? Had he already gone to bed? It would be the first time they had not bid each other good night.

"He wanted to take a watch on the border." Orodion said, still watching her closely, "He looked like something was troubling him, wanted to be alone with it."

"I thought you just read hearts, not minds." Mel said. If he was telepathic she wondered if he had heard everything she had been thinking. She had never heard of telepathy in Tolkien's books, but in the crazy world she was living in anything was possible.

Orodion smiled, "I get impressions from people, nothing more, Lady Melody. And it seems to me that Boromir is not the only one troubled tonight. You carry a heavy burden on you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "Are you so proud that you would carry it alone?"

"I don't have a choice." she whispered, turning away from his piercing eyes and staring into the fire.

"He would help you, if you allowed him."

"He can't help me."

"Why do you send him away when it is so obvious that it is painful to you?"

"I don't have a choice!" she snapped, finally turning back and glaring at Orodion, "You don't understand anything!"

"You are right, there are many things about you that are hidden from me." Orodion tilted his head and smiled at her, "But you love him, that much is clear." Mel stared at him. God, was it that obvious? "You love him and yet you shield yourself from him. Who are you protecting? Boromir or yourself?" He stared at her for another moment, then he stood, "I will leave you, Lady Melody." he pointed to a secluded little cabin in the far corner of the clearing, "That is where you are spending the night." he turned back and looked at her pointedly, "Boromir's watch ends in one hour. I think it would do him good to speak with you. But you are free to do as you see best. Good night, my lady."

He gave her a quick bow and then strode quickly into the dark. Mel pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She wanted to wait up for Boromir. She wanted to talk to him so much. She wanted all the things she had said and all the things that she knew were coming to be a bad dream, something she could just toss aside and forget. Why couldn't she have fallen into this world with amnesia? Everything would have been so much simpler. Then again, Boromir would have been dead if she hadn't known to come find him, to save him. And a little part of her still stung when she thought of her world without him in it.

_"Who are you protecting? Boromir or yourself?"_

Orodion's words hung in the air around her. She wanted to tell herself it was Boromir of course, she was protecting him from the harsh whispers against his reputation. But when she took just a minute to sit and really look, she knew that wasn't true. Boromir didn't give a rat's ass about his reputation. He was the Steward's son for God's sake, practically royalty, he didn't need anyone's approval for anything he did.

And that was really it. Mel was protecting herself from him, from his position, from the inevitable abandonment that she was sure was coming the second they reached the gate of Minas Tirith, the second his responsibilities swooped down and engulfed him in a cloud of better judgment. He would finally see what an insignificant speck she truly was. And he would forget her. She would be lost in a world she didn't understand, thrown on the mercy of people she didn't know and without a friend in the world, helpless and alone.

She wiped away a stray tear and straightened her shoulders. She was protecting herself. But she would protect Boromir too, whether he liked it or not. She would do everything in her power to make sure he stayed safe. Because she loved him. Insignificant speck that she was, she loved him and she would continue to love him, even from a safe distance. And keep that distance she would. Because maybe if he forgot her from a distance it wouldn't hurt so much.

Boromir trudged back through the woods, his mind still tumbling. Melody's silence, something this afternoon that he had found merely a nuisance, now troubled him deeply. She had been silent through dinner, completely unaware of anything around her. She had finished her stew and then pulled herself inward in a way that Boromir had never seen before. She had never seemed so small to him. He had fought the urge over and over to go to her, to comfort her, to hold her while she whispered everything that troubled her in his ear. That wasn't what she wanted, she had made it clear. And yet she had reached for his hand in the forest, had held on to him when she was afraid. He didn't understand. He wished she would just tell him what was wrong, tell him how he could make it right. But he had a feeling that it wasn't that simple. It was something Melody would have to work out for herself. If she would only let him help her...

He could see the flickering of the dying campfire through the trees. A figure stood stiffly, in the light and he could see light shining softly in brown curls, glinting off of gold thread. It was Melody. His pace quickened. Maybe he could catch her before she walked away, force her to tell him what troubled her. But she hurried away toward the row of cabins, toward the small hut that held her bed for the night. Her head was buried in her chest, as if she were hiding from prying eyes and her steps were quick and precise. He slowed. She wouldn't speak to him tonight. He watched her from the very edge of the woods as she slipped into the cabin. Then he stepped out of the woods and followed her path across the camp and stopped at her closed door. He reached out and laid a hand on the rough wood, then he pressed his cheek to it, as if he were trying to feel her through the door.

_"When you're ready, Melody," _he thought, _"I'll be here. However long it takes, I'll still be here."_


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Alright! I officially have more reviews for Part Two than I did for Part One which is fantastic! 310 and counting! Thanks for sticking with me guys, I'm glad I'm able to produce a story that you really seem to enjoy. Only one chapter left in Part Two! I'm really excited about Part Three, which I have decided to entitle Second Chances. We'll have one more chapter after this before we get to that. Enjoy!

P.S.- inulvr33 does this qualify me for my cookie? :)

**Chapter 30**

Mel woke the next morning and blinked. Something wasn't right. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling trying to figure out what it was. Then it came to her. She hadn't dreamed. She sat up on her elbows and really thought about it. She hadn't dreamed anything last night. It was all one blank blackness of deep sleep. It was the first time since Isengard that she hadn't dreamed. She didn't know whether to be happy or worried. On the one hand, no more nightmares. But on the other, Yavanna's last words echoed in her head.

**_"After tonight you will not see me anymore."_**

A chill passed over Mel and she swung out of bed, dressing quickly. She didn't want to think about it, not now, not first thing in the morning. She needed to stretch, to practice. She glanced out of a small window and could tell that the sun had just risen. If she was lucky, no one would be around to see her practicing by herself. She was sure that Boromir wouldn't be there. She slipped on her shoes trying not to think about that either. She just wanted a few precious hours when it didn't feel like the whole world rested on her shoulders. She slipped on her sword belt and grabbed her pack before heading out the door, a deliberate spring in her step.

As she had suspected, the camp was mostly empty and her little corner was safely nestled out of the way. She dropped her bag and unsheathed her sword, swinging it once to test the weight. It felt better in her hands now, not as heavy, as if the grip had been altered by leprechauns in the night to fit her hand better. Or maybe she was just getting used to it. She placed her feet in the starting position for the exercises that Elladan had taught her, what felt like almost a lifetime ago. It had been a long time since she had practiced alone. She cleared her head and focused on her sword, on everything she had learned since leaving Rivendell. The swings and thrusts felt awkward at first with no resistance to meet them, no opponent at the other end. But she focused on her feet, the way they moved under her as she pretended to step away from an imaginary attacker. She remembered to keep them lined up, just as Boromir had taught her. And when she whirled around and struck, her feet stayed firm beneath her.

She was almost to the end of the exercise when there was a loud clang that jolted Mel from her concentration. Her sword had made contact with another and at the other end was Orodion. His eyes looked her up and down, assessing her as if she were a project that needed tweaking.

"Curious," he muttered, shoving back her sword and then stepping back to look at her, one hand stroking the gray streaks of his beard, "You swing a sword of Rohan with the footwork of a Gondorian, and yet your style clearly has Elven roots." He raised a bushy eyebrow at her, "You've been a busy lass."

"I get around a bit." Mel said, still holding a defensive pose. His gentle chiding held the hint of a teacher in it. She had a feeling she was about to get a lesson and she didn't want to be caught unprepared.

He pursed his lips and nodded. He took a casual step to the left and Mel mimicked him, keeping him in her sights. His sword was held loosely at his side, seemingly harmless, but Mel had seen Elladan come at her lightning quick from a more relaxed stance than that. The elf had tried to teach her to see the signs of tension in others and she could just make out what might be a gentle straining around Orodion's shoulders. She wasn't taking any chances.

Whatever she did seemed to please the big man. He grinned at her, "Well, at least you aren't completely daft." he said, "Nice to know my past pupils pick good students."

She furrowed her eyebrows. Past pupils?

He saw her confusion and jerked his head toward the fire, "Boromir used to spend hours with me in his youth, backside in the dirt more often than not."

Mel had to concentrate on not looking where he indicated. That was another old trick of Elladan's. She had worked hard to overcome the automatic instinct to look where he looked. But her nerve endings were tingling now. Orodion had taught Boromir when he was a kid. And now here he was, standing in front of her, looking for all the world like he was going to give her a lesson too. If he had taught Boromir he had to be good. Her muscles tensed and she crouched, ready, her eyes flicking over his body, waiting for any kind of sign.

He grinned at her again, "Alright, I see there's no fooling you with cheap tricks. Let's get on with it then."

He struck so quickly that Mel almost missed the movement. She threw up her sword and blocked him, half turning and tossing his sword point away from her, trying to get him from the side. But he met her, spinning light on his feet in a flurry of movement that had Mel fighting to keep up with him. His size belied his speed and Mel ducked under his attack and skittered away, trying to get a moment to think past her own defense. But he was on her again and she found herself just trying to stay on her feet and keep hold of her sword.

In a matter of moments it was over. Mel was suddenly on her back, gasping, her sword three feet away and Orodion's sword pointed at her chest with no clear memory of how she'd gotten there. And Orodion was grinning down at her. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

When Mel finally caught her breath she said, "Well, at least you didn't underestimate me."

That made Orodion laugh, a big booming sound, the way Mel imagined a mountain might laugh if something were funny enough.

"Boromir warned me that there was more to you than met the eye. I believe he was right." Orodion dropped his sword to his side and offered her a hand up. She took it and she was hauled to her feet as if she were no more than a twig, "Your foundation is good, all you need is experience. With experience comes speed and quick thinking. You got lost about half way through I think."

"More like five seconds in." Mel said, brushing the dirt off her pants.

Orodion nodded, "Instinct took over and your instinct is to defend yourself. You did it admirably, but you can't keep defending yourself and expect to win a fight. To win a fight, you must attack and attack early."

He held up his sword and motioned that she should do the same, "When I come at you, your first thought should not be, 'Keep myself safe.' It must be, 'Put him in the ground.' Otherwise, you'll run yourself ragged and never get anywhere. Understand?"

She nodded and braced herself.

He didn't look convinced, but he returned her nod. "Alright then."

He came at her again. And again, she was on the ground in less than ten seconds. He hauled her to her feet and they started again. Ten seconds later, ass in dirt. After a while it started to feel like old routine. Swing, lose, ass in dirt, repeat.

"Come on, lass, what are you afraid of?" Orodion said as he hauled her to her feet for the fourth time, "I'm a big man, but you're young and nimble. You could take me if you wanted to."

"Not likely." she gasped, her hands on her knees. If he swung at her now, she would just lie down in the dirt and save him the trouble.

He shook his head, leaning on his sword, "That's the problem with you. In your mind, you've already lost. You've got to at least pretend that you might win, otherwise what's the point?"

"I've only ever really won once, you know." She said. She'd regained enough energy to look up at him and smile a little bit.

He grinned and bent down to look her in the eye, "And how did that feel, lass?"

She tried to remember. It felt as if it had been years ago, not months. She tried to remember what it had felt like to be with the Fellowship, to feel safe, before the paralyzing fear set in. She looked at her sword. This wasn't the sword that she'd won with, but she had to stop blaming the sword. The sword was a good one, made well and balanced perfectly. Even if it was a little heavy, she was well beyond that now. It wasn't the sword's fault. It was her's. Orodion was right. She'd been defending herself for too long.

She straightened and twirled her sword, facing the big man with a new glint in her eye. She wasn't waiting for him to strike. She was deciding where she should strike first. Suddenly, her sword whirled through the air, arcing toward the Warden. He lifted his sword to meet her, but she didn't stay put. She immediately struck again and again, searching for that hole, that inevitable weakness that always showed itself in time. It had been a long time since she'd actively searched for a hole in a person's defenses. She'd been so busy covering her own holes, she'd forgotten to look for her opponent's. But now she forced herself to trust in her training to defend her while her mind remained on the task at hand, finding a weakness in the giant in front of her.

And then it appeared, a touch of slowness in his right hand. If she could time one powerful swing perfectly, she could maneuver under...

Before she could complete the thought, Orodion struck out, knocking her sword from her hands and bringing the point of his blade to rest on her collarbone. She had lost again. But she wasn't in the dirt. And as she watched a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Orodion's otherwise impassive face. It was enough to make her smile.

"Forfeit." she said, but she said it proudly. Orodion smiled and lowered his sword.

"Well fought, Melody of Rivendell." He said.

Someone cleared their throat and Mel finally allowed herself to glance over her shoulder. Boromir was standing behind her. She started to smile at him, but stopped when his own face didn't return the expression. That's right, distance. Reality came crashing down around her again. She was alone.

"It is a long ride to Amon-Din. We must make haste if we are to reach the beacon by nightfall." Boromir said.

She felt Orodion step up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, "Nonsense, you have plenty of time, Lord Boromir. And besides, I've run this poor girl ragged on an empty stomach. If you wish to reach Amon-Din at all, you'll at least allow her to eat something first."

Mel's stomach took the opportunity to announce to the world that food would be a very good idea. Mel blushed and dropped her eyes. She hadn't realized she was so hungry.

Orodion slapped her on the back and laughed, "Well, I think that settles it. Come by the fire, Lady Melody, I'll have Eredin make you a meal fit for the work you've been doing." Orodion led Mel away and Boromir reluctantly fell into step beside them, "You've done well, Boromir," he continued, "She's quite the swordsman, or woman I suppose." He looked down and winked at her.

Boromir glanced at Mel and then down at his boots, "Yes, her skill is improving."

"I've learned a lot from Boromir." Mel said. She looked up at Orodion and he was smiling at her.

"I'm sure you have, lass. He's a fine soldier, our Boromir. But even the best of us have our weaknesses."

Mel noticed Orodion flex his right hand when he said that and it made her look more closely. There was a scar, barely visible, that cut between his thumb and first finger and then snaked it's way up until it disappeared up his shirt sleeve. She wondered what had happened to him.

They reached the campfire and Orodion sat Mel down right beside him, handing her a bowl of what looked like fried potatoes and ham. The men seemed more relaxed this morning and far less suspicious of her. Maybe it was sitting with the captain or the fact that nothing horrible had happened to them in the night. Or maybe they were just glad to know she was leaving. Mel didn't much care which it was, she just felt better knowing she wasn't being scrutinized by every pair of eyes she met.

They finished their breakfast and went to the horses that had been prepared for them. Before Mel could mount up, Orodion came and stood beside her. She smiled up at him, but his face looked grave.

"I have seen the fear in you, Lady Melody." He said.

Her smile faded, "I have a lot to be afraid of."

He nodded, "Aye, that you do." He reached down and brushed his scarred right thumb over the scar on her forehead, "We all have our scars, lass. Don't let yours ruin you." Then he smiled again and dropped his hand, "I hope to see you again, my lady, when the land is less treacherous and time more abundant."

She smiled, "I hope so too, Captain."

He took her hand and kissed it, then he helped her into her saddle. He said his farewells to Boromir and then they were riding out of camp and through the woods. Boromir was silent, but his posture was relaxed. He wasn't angry, just silent. Mel thought it would be safe to ask just one question.

"What happened to Orodion's hand?"

He glanced at her, as if startled that she was even speaking. Then he faced forward again, "An orc."

She bit back a frustrated huff, "Ok, but what happened?"

"He was leading a band of men patroling the Anduin. They stumbled upon a lone orc fleeing toward the mountains. They killed him, of course, but Orodion chose not to scout the rest of the bank. He felt certain that this was simply a lone scout and that since he hadn't given away their position they were safe. That night a large band of orcs descended from the mountains and attacked their camp. Only three men escaped. Orodion was one of them. But in the fight an orc blade nearly severed his thumb. He's lucky to have the use of his hand."

Mel was dumb struck. The Warden's last words echoed in her mind.

_"We all have our scars, lass. Don't let yours ruin you."_

"Something else happened after that, didn't it?" she said.

Once again, Boromir looked at her like he was surprised she was speaking, but he answered her, "He blamed himself for the loss of his men. He refused another command for many years."

"He said he taught you when you were younger."

Boromir nodded, "He was my first teacher in swordmanship and combat. He was and still is the best teacher I've ever had."

"But he's a Warden Captain now. So something must have changed."

Boromir shook his head, "I do not know. I had not spoken to Orodion in many years. I asked him often when I was a child why he did not lead men into battle. He would always say the same thing. 'Not all wars are fought on the field. Some of the most important battles are fought in the hearts and minds of men.'"

Mel thought about that for a minute, "Maybe he finally won his war." she said.

Boromir looked at her again. "I sincerely hope so, Melody."

They were silent for another few moments. Then to Mel's surprise, Boromir spoke, "May I assume that we are now speaking again?"

He sounded a little bitter and the tone, more than the words, startled her, "We don't have to."

He sighed, "That is not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

He looked at her, really looked at her like he was trying to read her mind, "I meant are we friends once more? We have both spent much time and energy pushing each other away. I am tired of trying to remember how I should behave toward you. Can we not just remain friends and let our history determine how we behave? Or must I suddenly relearn the delicate art of gentlemanly manners to protect your dignity? Because frankly, I feel we moved past that long ago."

Mel didn't know what to say. She had been trying to distance herself from him to protect herself, but it did seem like she kept coming back. She couldn't stay away. So why did she keep wasting her energy trying? If he abandoned her, it was going to hurt. If she lost him, it was going to hurt. She couldn't defend herself from everything. Apparently, Orodion's lesson didn't just apply to her sword skills. She nodded.

"You're right." she said, "I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. We're friends and we shouldn't have to act any differently. I guess I was just freaking out because of the thing, you know, back at Nardol..."

"Vanion," Boromir spoke his name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "Is a vile, pathetic excuse of a human being who isn't even fit to lay eyes on you. And if I have any word in the matter, he never will again."

Mel stared at him. He wasn't looking at her, but his eyes burned. She hadn't expected to hear that level of anger from him. It was strangely comforting. It made her feel safe.

She smiled, "Thank you, Boromir."

His face softened and he looked at her again, "I would do anything to protect you, Melody."

And Mel knew that he meant it.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Alright guys, last chapter in Consequences. Don't forget to check out Part Three in the Changing History series, Second Chances. I'm really excited about continuing this story and I hope you guys enjoy! Don't forget to review if you haven't already, I'd love to know what you guys think of the story so far! Thanks!

**Chapter 31**

They reached Amon-Din just as the sun was setting. Their reception at the beacon was predictable. The Wardens had been graced by the presence of Vanion and his escort and regaled with terrifying tales of the woman who commanded the trees, tales that seemed to grow in the telling. If it kept up Mel was sure that by the time she reached Minas Tirith, she'd be ten feet tall and green with eyes of fire and smoke coming out of her ears. But the men were willing to listen to Boromir's reassurances, while Mel sat on her horse and tried to look as harmless as possible. It worked and they were led to camp and fed. It was late and Mel was exhausted, so when Boromir suggested that they go to bed early, she didn't think twice about it. It was only after she was safely in her cabin and crawling under the light blanket of her bunk that it truly dawned on her where they were. Amon-Din was the very last beacon before Minas Tirith. Only they weren't going to Minas Tirith. They were going to Osgiliath. They hadn't spoken of it since they'd fought almost three days ago, but Mel was positive that nothing had changed. The reports of the horribly outnumbered troops trying to hold the border had upset Boromir. And she knew he was thinking of his brother. If it had been her, that's what she would have been thinking.

The thought of going into the besieged city, of watching it be overrun, made Mel feel sick to her stomach. But she would go because she had to keep Boromir safe. And because the thought of waiting for him alone in Minas Tirith made her feel even worse. She could not face that city alone. She would rather face all the orcs in Mordor than face Denethor alone. At least with the orcs she knew what she was up against. She had no idea what she would find when they finally reached Minas Tirith and that terrified her. There were so many variables and everything had changed now. Word had spread quickly that Boromir was alive and not dead as everyone seemed to have believed. That still bothered Mel. Why would they think he was dead? There was nothing to suggest that he wasn't alive, but someone had started the rumor that he was dead anyway. Who would do that? And why? It didn't make any sense.

But as much as she tried to convince herself, she knew she wasn't just worried for Boromir's sake. Word of her existence and what she could do would reach the Tower of Ecthelion long before she set foot there. And she had to admit that Denethor had a reputation for being almost as power hungry and greedy as Saruman. His motives were completely different, but the end result was similar. Mel didn't yet know what that meant for her. Not only that, but she was entering a brand new world, full of rules and expectations that she had never had before. Even without prior knowledge of events she would have been nervous.

Once her mind started running, processing idea after idea, worry after worry, she couldn't get it to stop. She tossed and turned, forcing her eyes closed. But her mind even worked behind her eyelids, conjuring scenarios for her entrance into Minas Tirith, for her introduction to Denethor, some good some horrible, until they all ran together and Mel couldn't tell if she was dreaming or imagining.

Her only indication that she had fallen asleep was being woken with a start by a soft tap at her door. She shot up in bed and listened carefully. Maybe she had imagined it, or dreamed it. But there it was again, three soft taps on her door. She pulled on her boots and strapped on her sword (just in case) and slowly opened the door a crack.

Boromir stood on the other side, almost completely engulfed in the deep darkness that comes just before dawn. His eyes gleamed.

"I'm sorry to wake you." he said.

She smiled and ran a hand through her hair, "It's OK, I wasn't sleeping very well anyway. Is everything alright?"

He nodded and held his hand out to her, "I want to show you something. Come with me."

She didn't even question it. She took his hand and followed him outside. The camp was deserted. Even the fire had burned down to only one or two embers. Everyone was either asleep or on watch somewhere in the trees. Mel could here the forest whispering around her, but it was strangely still, as if the trees were waiting for the sun to rise and wake them. They passed out of the camp and headed into the forest. Before long, Mel began to realize that they were going up. They wound through steadily thinning trees and then through rock formations. They were noticeably climbing now and Mel had to work to keep up with Boromir's long, confident strides. This was a climb he had made before. He kept a firm grip on her hand as he led her ever higher onto the mountain top. A brisk wind blew and Mel began to wish she had grabbed her cloak before they'd gone.

Mel didn't know how long they climbed, but the horizon was just beginning to show color when they made one final turn and Mel could see the beacon of Amon-Din. It burned brightly even in the fading darkness, flames licking toward the black sky, sending out the furious cry for help. They were still quite a distance away so it was only a bright speck at the top of the mountain, but Boromir stopped on a ledge that faced away east.

"I want you to see something." he said, her hand still held in his.

And then they waited. Mel had gotten a thin sheen of sweat from the climb and when a gust of wind blew past she involuntarily shuddered. Boromir glanced at her, then, without saying a word, he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his fur-lined cloak around her. She sighed and leaned back, letting his arms fold her up. She couldn't help it. She felt so safe here. His breath next to her ear made her heart stutter.

"I'm sorry. I should have had you bring your cloak. I forget how cold it can get on the mountain."

She shook her head, "It's alright, I'm fine."

She was more than fine. She was perfect. She felt him rest his cheek on the top of her head.

"I wanted you to see this. It's the perfect place. Watch there."

He pointed to what looked like a chunk of white sticking out of the mountain face to the east of them. Mel watched and waited.

Then the sun finally peeked out over the horizon, flooding the world with it's light. And that spot of white rock that Boromir had pointed to suddenly lit up. Mel caught her breath. It sparkled and shone bright gold against the brilliant white, dazzling her eyes. And suddenly Mel knew what she was looking at.

"Minas Tirith," Boromir whispered, "Home."

At first Mel was speechless. She hadn't realized how big the city was. It was like a spike of mountain all to itself. And the way it glittered in the morning sun made it seem almost magical.

"Oh god, Boromir," she whispered reverently, "It's so beautiful."

His arms tightened around her and they stood there for another moment, just watching the sun light up the mountainside.

"I'm so scared." Mel said suddenly.

"I know." Boromir said, "But as soon as my business in Osgiliath is finished I will find you. You can wait for me by the Pelennor gates if you like..."

"No."

Boromir stopped short and Mel could feel his arms tense, "No?"

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"Melody, I'll be surrounded by men and my brother will be there, you said so yourself."

"They have to take care of each other. You aren't supposed to be there. Who's going to take care of you?"

She could hear the smile in his next words, "I took very good care of myself long before I met you, Melody."

"Says the man who's supposed to be dead." she said playfully. He didn't answer for so long that Mel actually turned and looked up at him. He was staring down at her with serious eyes. She smiled, but she wasn't playing anymore, "The rules change when you're out of sync with the rest of the world, Boromir. My predictions are going to be sketchy at best from now on. There's just too many unknowns."

"Then can't you see why I want you as far away from there as possible?" he asked, pleading with his eyes. But Mel wasn't giving up.

"I want you there even less than you want me there and that doesn't seem to be stopping you. Why should it stop me?"

"Melody..."

"Boromir, you've tried to leave me behind twice now, in Rivendell and in Lothlorien. How has that worked out for you so far?"

That seemed to stop him in his tracks. He stared down at her for a long time. He seemed to be considering every inch of her face. She decided to give him one more kick in the right direction.

"I can't go into Minas Tirith alone. I just can't. I need you there with me and this is the best way to make sure that happens."

He stared into her eyes for just a few more seconds, "You'll have to fight. It will be dangerous, like Moria."

"Worse, but as least we won't be underground."

"You can not leave my side, do you understand? Not for a moment."

"Trust me, I'm not planning to shop for souvenirs." She said it just a few seconds before she realized that he probably had no idea what she was talking about, "I'll be with you the whole time. I'll watch your back, you watch mine, OK?"

He kept searching her eyes, "I don't like this Melody."

"Neither do I, but you seem pretty determined so I guess we don't have much of a choice."

He sighed and pulled her against his chest again, resting his cheek on her head, "You stubborn, foolish woman, whatever was Yavanna thinking bringing you here?"

Mel smiled, "Trust me, I've asked the same question."

There was a pause.

"Would you go back? Knowing what you know now, the consequences of your decisions, would you go back?"

Mel didn't even have to think about it, "Not a chance."

_Osgiliath_

_March 10th, 3019_

_Just before dawn..._

Faramir stared out into the dark, his gray eyes searching the black waters of the Anduin. Something felt strange, he could taste it in the air. Something wasn't right. But his eyes found nothing but darkness. He kept looking.

Madril came to stand beside him as if he could read the thoughts of his commander, "It's been very quiet across the river. The orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We've sent scouts to Cair Andros. If the orcs attack from the north we'll have some warning."

Faramir knew that Madril was trying to reassure him, but he still felt that twist of doubt in his stomach. Something was wrong. He still searched the night, wondering what could make him feel this way. And suddenly he wished for his brother. Boromir would have slapped him on the shoulder and told him to stop worrying like an old woman. Boromir would have said that whatever came they would fight it and they would win and he would have believed it. Because Boromir did not lose. That's why it was so difficult to believe the strange news of his death. It didn't make sense. Boromir didn't lose.

The last he'd heard of his brother from the two Halflings had done little to ease his mind. Madness didn't fit Boromir either. How could it be that he could resist the pull of the Ring and Boromir could not. Boromir, who was always the stronger of them, who could win any fight, who could rally men to him like moths to a candle flame, was not one to give in so easily.

Most of Gondor was in mourning for the eldest son of the Steward, but Faramir refused. Because in his heart he didn't feel that his brother was dead. And until it was proven otherwise, he would continue to wait for his return.

Faramir finally turned from the river and started to make his way down from the open balcony. Perhaps if he stood on the bank he could see more. But as he reached the bottom of the steps, there was a thud in front of him. A soldier, one of his men, lay on the ground, crumpled, dead, an arrow in his chest. And suddenly it was clear.

"They aren't coming from the north."

He rushed forward, gathering his men as quietly as he could, pulling them all toward the river bank, "To the river! Quick, quick!"

And as they all stood in the early morning quiet and waited, Faramir uttered one single prayer, _"Boromir, if you're still out there, please come, come quickly."_

**End of Part Two**

**Stay tuned for Part Three, ****Changing History: Second Chances**


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